Everything Has It's Place
by You-drive-me-nuts-miller
Summary: The new home for my little drabbles and Tumblr fics... (Captain Swan) Ratings vary - M rated fics will be clearly marked :D (Mostly unbeta'd - apologies for the typos/errors - I will try and fix at some point!)
1. Emma Swan should not get drunk

**PROMPT: Emma drunkenly lets it slip that she's sleeping with Hook**

"Okay Sheriff, I think you've had enough."

Grumpy pulled the beer from her hand, replacing it with a large glass of cool water.

Emma smiled and placed her hand on his shoulder, "You know Grump? You are a good guy. I like you." Her words were slightly drawled and her eyes barely open.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered as he passed the half drunk beer to Ruby.

Emma slumped down, her head resting on her arm. Ruby snickered. Grumpy leaned across the bar, whispering, "You know it's a damn good thing everyone else has gone home. Her mother would pitch a fit seeing her like this."

"Hey," Ruby hushed, "She's in a good mood. Give her a break." Grumpy frowned and went around collecting the few remaining glasses that littered the booths.

"You know who else is a good guy?" Emma suddenly shot up, nose in the air.

"Who?" Ruby asked as she wiped clean the bar.

"Hook!" Emma cried, raising up her glass of water as though she were making a toast.

"Hook?" Grumpy gave her an incredulous look from across the room. She spun around on her stool to face him. "The pirate?"

"Mmmhmm," she nodded enthusiastically, before taking a long drink. "He's really brave and he has a ship," she leaned forward and whispered, "_A real pirate ship._"

Grump and Ruby caught each others eye and stifled a laugh.

"Yeah Emma, a real gentleman."

"I'm serious guys!" Emma whined. "Did you know he saved David's life when we were in Neverland?" The other two looked disbelieving. Emma nodded, "It's true. And you know? He says the nicest things sometimes. Like, when no one else can hear, but he does…"

"Does someone have a crush on the pirate?" Ruby teased, waggling her eyebrows.

"A crush?" Emma scoffed, "As if! It's just sex. You know - scratching an itch. I mean it's not like it's going anywhere! Me and him? Ha. But you know sometimes a girl needs-"

Emma stopped when she registered the open mouthed expression of Ruby. Behind her, Grumpy had busied himself, pretending he had not heard what he clearly just had.

"Are you sleeping with Hook?"

"Crap." Emma sighed, rubbing her hand over her face, a sobering wave overcoming her. "Technically we are not sleeping together…"

"But you're having sex?" Ruby pressed, in a low whisper.

Emma twisted her face, rolling her head from side to side. "Maybe?"

"I knew it. I knew it. I called it weeks ago-"

"Ruby, please, you can't tell anyone. It doesn't mean... 's just sex. I'm a woman. I have needs…"

She gave her friend her best puppy dog eyed, imploring look. "Please."

Ruby smiled, "Of course, your secret is safe with me."

And of course, by three pm the next day, half the town already knew about the dalliance between the dreaded Captain Hook and the pretty blonde Sheriff.


	2. Dirty Talk

**PROMPT: I love fics where Hook talks dirty, explicitly dirty, to Emma. Could you do a "dirty talk" smutty drabble?**

**M Rated**

Bodies pressed together, his tongue slid along line of her jaw. A tingle shot up her spine. His breath was warm and soft across her neck. She could feel his heart pounding through the soft cotton of his shirt. His leather pants creased as he slid closer to her, his hips pivoting up into hers as his hand crept under the hem of her skirt and began to tug at her tights.

"We can't…" she muttered with little conviction.

Yes, they were in the storeroom at Grannies.

But there was a party in full swing, the kitchen was closed and Killian had half heartedly kicked a box up against the door when they had tumbled inside.

"Can't?" he teased, his mouth so close to her ear, she felt her body tremble when the moist ghost of his breath met her skin.

She didn't reply. Instead, merely sank back against the metal shelves she behind her as he peeled away her tights and slipped off her heels. When his mouth met hers again in a hungry kiss she was almost breathless, such was the effect this pirate had on her.

"Don't you know how much I want you Emma? Christ, I've been rock hard for you since I stepped in this place." As if to prove his point he pressed his hardened cock against her thigh. She groaned, licking her lips in anticipation, a familiar longing growing in her belly. "You knew what you were doing. The way you kept looking at me, pursing your lips. And you wore this bloody dress that makes your tits look so good I just want to devour them."

She gasped as he buried his head into her cleavage, biting and nipping the skin, as his hand tugged them free of her dress, rolling her nipples into hardness before latching on with his mouth and sucking hard - making her cry out in that awkward space between pleasure and pain. "God they are fucking glorious."

Puffing out her chest, her fingers began to card into his hair. The feel of his scruff against the tender skin of her breasts made her heart race and dampness between her legs began to reach an unbearable height. She began to rock into him, desperately trying to raise a little friction where she desperately need it.

"Oh, you want me don't you Swan? I can feel it. You wanton little slut. Do you want me to touch you? To run my fingers down your slit and slide them in your pussy?"

A wave of heat and shame and desire all in one rolled over her. She should hate him for talking like this. She should hate it. But God, she loved it. Damn it turned her on. And damn didn't he know it.

"Yes," she managed to yelp softly into his ear and without warning his slightly chilled hand reached her damp heat. She flinched at first, the coldness unexpected - assaulting her senses as he began to circle her clit.

"Christ you're wet. So fucking wet. I want to stick my tongue in your cunt and taste your wetness. I want to smother you over my lips so you can taste yourself. Would you like that Emma?"

She couldn't reply. The motion of his fingers had been a catalyst. A burning, churning, drunken feel overcoming her as she tightened her fingers in his hair.

He swept down, burying himself between her legs - running a firm yet tender tongue along her slit, leisure lapping between her folds.

"You taste so fucking good Emma. It's like sweetness and cream and sex all wrapped in one." He quickly pressed a kiss against her, before rising up to her face again. "Taste yourself," he commanded and she lunged into him, plunging her own tongue into his mouth, tasting herself mingled with him feeling so turned on she may burst…

When his fingers began to slip inside she knew she didn't have long left. He pulled away from their kiss and began to nuzzle into her face, running his nose up against hers in a slow, calculated move.

"So tight. God - do you know how tight you are?" She shook her head. "Your cunt feels like heaven. I just want to slip my cock in and have you milk it for all it's worth."

A sense memory began to pervade her thoughts - their last encounter, on the Jolly, his hot thick length sliding slowly inside her, making her cry out as he filled her so fantastically she wanted scream.

"Come on princess," he ordered, quickening the pace of his fingers, running his thumb over her clot in short, rapid flicks, "Give up. Let it out. I might even fuck you later if you're good-"

And those last words did it. Black and starts and bells and heat and rippling muscles invaded her senses all at once until she sank forward into him, resting her heat on his firm chest.

"Fuck you Killian," she managed to say, a half smile on her lips.

"I told you," he replied, "Later - if you're good."


	3. Two Can Play That Game

**PROMPT: Emma and Killian aren't together yet but she gets jealous of the attention he gets, so she decides to get her flirt on**

"I would love to see see your boat someday."

"That could be arranged," Hook replied, a twinkle in his eye as he took another sip of rum.

"Oh really - would you give me a private tour?"

"Perhaps."

On the other side of the room, Emma could feel herself begin to seethe. Her fists began to clench. Bile started to rise in her throat.

This was the fifth woman who had approached Killian that evening. Not that she was counting. Nope. She was there for a girls' night. Emma, Ruby and Mary Margaret. Catching up on the girl talk. Certainly not watching every move a leather clad gentleman had made since he swept into The Rabbit Hole alone, almost an hour earlier.

"So do you think it's a good idea?"

"Huh?" Emma asked, swinging around and looking at her mother in confusion.

"A book club. What we've been talking about."

"Oh," Emma nodded. "Book club. Great idea." Her eyes flicked back to the bar. The blonde was gone now and Hook sat alone nursing his liquor. "Hey, I'm going to get a drink."

"You still have half a beer left," pointed out Ruby, giving Emma a confused look.

Grabbing her glass, Emma quickly sank the rest of her drink, pulling a quick smile, "I'm thirsty."

There was a space at the bar about a foot away from him. Emma squeezed in, finding herself pressed against a tall, handsome blonde she vaguely recognized. "Sorry," she apologized.

"Don't mind me," he replied, eyes quickly running her over, giving her a cheeky grin.

_Wait - was he flirting with her?_

She quickly glanced over his shoulder. The pirate had tilted his head. She knew he could see her.

"Well, I won't then," she teased, stepping that little bit closer. "Now how on Earth have I missed such a handsome man around town?" She ran a hand softly over his forearm, gazing up at him intently, hoping _he _was watching.

"I don't get out much, Sheriff."

"So you know who I am?"

"Everyone knows you, Ms. Swan."

Emma smiled and let her eyes flash downward, before reaching up on her toes until her lips were level with his ears, "Perhaps you'd like to get to know me a little better?"

As she pulled back, she made sure she was in Hook's eyeline again.

"I'd like that," he replied.

Making sure _he _could see, she slipped her hands over the strangers, "Buy me a drink?"

One beer and twenty minutes of tedious conversation later, Emma felt her resolve soften. Jake (as she'd learned his name was) was pretty but also pretty dull, as it turned out. But Emma was determined, she'd laughed at his terrible jokes, took every opportunity to touch him, made sure she flicked her hair and pursed her lips.

_Let's see how he likes it._

"Another drink?" he asked, holding up his glass, she nodded and gave him a small smile, breathing a small smile of relief when he walked away.

The next thing she knew she felt a hand grabbing her elbow and pushing her back into the dark depths of the bar.

"Hey!" she cried, swinging around as she reached the fire exit at the rear of the room, only half surprised when she was it was him.

"You don't play fair, Swan," he told her, pressing his hand against the wall behind her.

"And you do?" she sassed, letting her eyes linger on the unbuttoned portion of his shirt, trying to ignore how damn good he smelled.

"I can't help it if the local ladies are attracted to a handsome devil like myself."

Emma rolled her eyes, "God, you're conceited."

"Are you denying I'm handsome?" he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.

"Please," she muttured leaning back against the wall.

He leaned a little closer to her, jutting out his chin. She could feel his breath on her face. "You know Swan, you shouldn't play games you can't win."

"Can't I?" she replied with a hint of challenge.

"Is that a challenge?" he queried, tilting his head and giving her a look that bordered on admiration.

"Perhaps?" she replied with a wink, dipping under his arm and heading back towards the bar. "Gotta go, Jake's waiting for me."

Hook watched her saunter off, purposefully swaying her hips, turning back to give him a quick glance.

"Jake?" he called after her, "What sort of bloody name is that?"


	4. The power of a kiss

**PROMPT: Emma kisses Killian and he escapes the curse with her and Henry**

Those eyes were flickering a thousand shades of blue under the dimming light. Intently they bore into her own, telling her everything she needed to know without a word being spoken. The crashing roar of the approaching curse consumed the air around them, blocking out any other sound as the residents of Storybrooke awaited their fate.

Why now? Why in this moment did the she finally see what had been there all along?

As the swirling violet clouds approached, she had moved closer to him, after kissing Henry on the cheek. She knew he'd be safe - he hadn't been affected by the original curse, the same as herself. But all the others...

Hook had stood to one side of main crowd of residents. He had no loved ones or family to be with him. A solitary figure he was silent and still. But she knew where she needed to be in this moment.

Once by his side, he silently acknowledged her presence, twisting to face her. Her eyes scanned his face, taking in his strong jaw and furrowed brow. Her heart throbbed as she was overcame with understanding. He needed her. Just as she needed him. It was clear in his eyes - open and pure with something she had never seen in him before - love.

The wind picked up around them, pushing into the air a few of the remaining fall leaves and whipping her hair around her face. It was almost time.

Just as she finally realised what she truly wanted and needed - it would be ripped away. He wouldn't know who she was. Perhaps he would even be taken to another place. Most likely she would never see him again.

The first fingers of swirling, angry smoke began to wrap around them all, thickening as the seconds ticked by.

It was now or never.

She chose now - launching her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to hers. When their lips met, she let all her regrets and hopes and dreams flood into him. This was a moment. Through all this bad and sorry and helplessness, she would have this memory. Something to cling to, even as she knew it was futile and this could only end in sadness. His arms felt like where she belonged: home.

The mist began to block out all light. Swirling and billowing until the sky became inseparable from the ground. She was flying. Soaring into his embrace, kissing him with every fibre of want and desire in her body. Begging for the moment to end.

Seconds later it was over. Rapidly the curse snapped away, like a genie returning to its bottle. Around her - one by one the residents of Storybrooke began to disappear - shocked looks crossing their faces as they vanished in a flash of light.

She felt Henry run over and cling to her coat. She pressed her eyes shut - not wanting to see this. The pain too much.

Till finally it stopped. The sun began to break through the crowds, drenching her face with warm winter rays.

And wait- still wrapped in her arms was Hook. They had pulled away from each other's kiss as the curse reached it's crescendo, but his hand still gripped her waist, her arms still encircled his neck.

Slowly, she pried open her eyes. Scared as to what she might see. Could it be...

He came into focus - gazing in wonder at her. How? What?

But all she could do in the moment was pull him close, tightening her body towards his as she felt Henry's arms encircle her waist. They had survived, made it through. Together.


	5. May I have this dance?

**PROMPT: Killian asks Emma to dance**

"May I have this dance?"

He held his hand out towards her with a flourish - a devilish twinkle in his eyes. Her eyes widened in surprise; she hadn't taken him for the dancing type. Cautiously she nodded and took his proffered hand, a half smile twitching at the corner of her lips. _This should be interesting._

The swell of music from the string quartet began to fill the grand room - elaborately decorated as it was for Belle and Rumpel's wedding festivities. As he led her to the dance floor she felt her stomach leap a little. She had never really danced with a man - not like this (bar room bump and grind didn't really count, she figured.)

Once they reached the center of the dance floor, the music began to quicken. Deftly he took her left hand in his and and held it up towards his shoulder - his hooked hand looping around her waist. Without hesitation he began to softly sway her body in time with the music, his eyes fixed on hers as his feet moved lightly to the beat. He was spinning her around: her heart caught in her throat a little - what on Earth was this?

Inside her head began to twirl and her body felt light as a feather, bending to his will. Suddenly he dipped her over his arm, her back curving against him under the flickering lights of the glitter ball above them. He caught her eye, giving her another wicked smile that she couldn't help but reciprocate.

Eventually the music slowed and he pulled her close; she linked her arms around his neck and began to move with him in time to the mellow beat.

"Wow - you've got some moves there, Hook."

"It's been a while Swan, but they say you never forget," he leaned in towards her, only a tiny sliver of air between their bodies.

"How did you-"

"Learn?" he interjected. "Kings Navy, love, an officer needs many skills - on and off the ship."

A smile passed between the two. What else did she not know about this man?

"Well I'm impressed," she admitted (and she swore he blushed a little under the half light of the ballroom.)

The last notes faded away and he stepped back from her, sweeping into a deep bow and placing a small, chaste kiss on her hand; but the way he looked at her was anything but chaste.

"Perhaps another later?" he asked.

"Perhaps," smiled, giving him one last coy glance before returning to her table.

What she really wanted to say was, _you try and stop me._


	6. He calls my name in my dreams

**_ A little drabble I wrote set after 3x11._**

_Nine Months Ago_

Blue.

Blurry at first, sharpening more as the nights went on. A sea of blue - warm, marine coloured, like that of a tropical sea. She imagined swimming in that blueness: losing herself in it's translucent beauty and being lifted away in a swirl of azure.

A navy band wrapped around the blue, enveloping it and creating a sharp outline - not perfectly round. Little imperfections, slightly jagged. She traced the line with her eyes, reading the stories it told - perhaps it were like the growth rings of a tree - telling a tale of experience and life.

Eyes.

They were eyes. Deep and soulful, pained and warm, soft and enchanting all at once. She dreamed of those blue eyes every night. Each time seeing a little more - a fleck of gold, an inky pupil she could lose herself in, the curve of a eyelash.

Every night the same. Haunting her. Whose eyes were these? She wracked her brain until it ached, searching her memories. She'd read once that you can only dream of those you have met. Emma didn't know if this was true. Because if it was she thought she might be going crazy.

_Six Months Ago_

_"Emma."_

The voice followed. Rich and full, the consistency of pure honey being lazily poured. It rolled around her mind like a marble in a bowl - again and again. _Emma, Emma, Emma._

She knew - _knew _- this was the voice that matched those eyes. It called to her at night, just as she was drifting off. It was alternately pained and beckoning. Always the same. Always calling her name.

The accent was thick and cut through her with its sharp, precise elocution and the way it wrapped around the two syllables of her name like a warm blanket on a cold day.

So familiar. It made her shiver.

_Four Months Ago_

A sparkle - a glint. Bright, white light reflected from a shining surface. It hurt her eyes.

It was metal - white and rounded, pointed… A hook.

A hook? Why was she dreaming about a hook?

Polished, sharpened - deadly. But it didn't install fear in her heart. Instead it drew upon her confusion and added another layer. Blue eyes. A voice. A hook.

Maybe she was growing crazy.

_Two Months Ago_

The scar was faint. Perhaps two, or three inches long but softened and worn as if through the sands of time. An old injury, clearly. It sliced across the skin of his cheek, adding a hint of intrigue and interest.

She wanted to know it's story. She wanted to run her finger down it's length and feel the way it gouged into the skin.

She wanted to know the face that held it.

Still, it was all a blur. A flesh coloured blur punctuated by those blue eyes.

_One Month Ago_

A clear cut jaw - defined and strong, squared. It was covered in a few days growth - masculine, but still groomed.

Lips. Soft and full; a pinkish punctuation of the scruff that covered the lower half of his face. They drew together as they said her name, over and over.

More pieces and flashes of this man appeared. It was like a wall being being chipped away. Little pieces every time, letting more light in. Showing her more of what was hidden deep in her mind. Like a secret vault being opened and showing her hidden secrets.

Every morning she work with a headache, only eased by pressing her palms against her forehead and waiting for the sensation to pass.

It was becoming too much.

_That Night_

Him. It was him.

The face came into focus - pulling together like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle slipping into place.

Her heart thudded, blood ran cold, ears pounded.

Him. From her dreams.

She rolled over onto her side, watching the neon numbers of her alarm clock glow against the darkness of her room.

Who was he? He'd said a friend… She ached with effort of ordering all these thoughts.

A man appears at her door. A man she has dreamed of. Then he tries to kiss her, talks of trouble. _Of family._

Hugging the sheets around her, Emma was scared. Not of him. But of what he meant.

She could be sure of nothing and the uncertainly hung round her neck like a leaden stone.

So she tried to sleep. Tried not to dream.

But there he was, still calling her name.

_Emma._


	7. Texting when drunk

**PROMPT: Hook drunken texts to Emma.**

Her phone buzzed in her jeans pocket.

The papers on her desk had seemed to blur as tiredness took over her eyes. She rolled her neck, massaging it with her hand as she removed the mobile, swiping across the screen to read the message.

SWAHSN

_Hmm. _She frowned as she looked at the number. Her lips curved into a smile as she reconized the digits. Quickly she tapped back a reply.

YOU OKAY?

She pushed the phone aside as she continued to collate the files she had been working on. Her eyes flashed to the screen every other second as she waiting for him to reply.

HOW CHAN I BEY PKAY WIHOUT YOU MY LSOVE?

She stifled a giggle as she saw his reply. What a fool. Since she had insisted he need a phone in this world it had taken him weeks to accept the intrusion into his life, but now he seemed addicted,

YOU ARE DRUNK.

Taking a sip of lukewarm coffee she awaited his reply. Clearly his and David's 'bonding' night had been successful.

THAT I AM SWAMN.

BUT I LPOVE YOUY.

Her stomach flipped a little at his clumsy attempts at courtship. Emma was used to the cool, debonair Hook - this man seemed so different and strange. She looked at the clock: midnight.

YOU NEED TO SLEEP HOOK.

Quickly a response buzzed back.

KILLIAN. PLASDE CALL EM KILLIAN.

Emma ran her tongue over my lips as she replied; the stack of files forgotten.

YOU NEED TO SLEEP KILLIAN.

There was no reply. A sinking feeling consumed her heart as she stood and began to pull on her jacket.

Then there was a loud banging on the station door.

What the-?

Her hand on her sidearm, she slid open the lock, pulling open the door. She was greeted by a dishevelled, smiling Killian - phone in hand.

"Pardon me Swan, but I like the old fashioned way of communicating."

"You need to sleep," she told him, stepping outside and turning to lock the door.

"I don't like to sleep alone," he whispered, moving closer to her ear as she turned the key in the lock.

Emma turned her head, her lips were so close to his. She could smell the beer. At least it wasn't rum…

"Well that's too bad, isn't it?" she smiled as his hand snaked around her waist. Despite herself, she slipped her hand over his, leaning back into him.

"Is that so Swan?" he whispered into her ear.

And as she lay back into his embrace and let his arms wrap around her - she knew she was gone.


	8. An unexpected phobia

**Prompt: Killian getting scared during take off on the plane ride to NY and he grabs Emma's wrist, fluff ensues ;)**

Beside her, he fidgeted in his seat. His real hand gripped the armrest between them as he shifted from side to side beneath the restraint of his lap belt.

"Sit still," she ordered under her he was wearing less conspicuous attire than usual, he still seemed out of place- his mannerisms and behaviour somewhat at odds with those of the world around him.

"Must I be restrained like this Swan? I'm not exactly going to run away am I?" He leaned in close to her so she could feel the heat of his breath upon her neck.

Whipping her head to face him, she flashed him a look that made him pause. "It's to keep you safe, so quit whining." With a small groan, he lay back in his seat and closed his eyes.

Slowly the pane began to pull back and taxi slowly towards the runway. "Emma - how is this quicker than that vehicle of yours? The Roger could out pace this in a heartbeat."

"Wait," she told him as the plane began to it paused and and the engines began to roar, before the plane shot forward, hurtling towards the take off speed.

"Gods!" he cried as he was pushed back into his seat, his hand reaching out and grabbing hers, his fingers digging into her flesh and turning it's pinkish tones white. She chuckled even as his fingers pinched her skin. Wrestling with his hands, she managed eventually to interlace their fingers and rest them in the space between their seats.

As the plane's nose began to rise she heard his breath began to come in deep, shuddering waves. "Shh, relax," she soothed-smiling inside as the brave and ruthless pirate shook beside her.

Finally, their ascent began to slow and the pressure on their bodies subsided. She turned to look at him.

"You can calm down now, we're in the air."

"Gods Emma, you didn't warm me about that!" His face was pale and small beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. Chuckling, she lifted up his hand and placed a small kiss on the back of it.

"Poor thing, all scared by the plane."

"I'm not," he insisted, slightly indignant,until her eyes met his again and a smile broke on his lips. "Well, perhaps a little." He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed hers in return. "But tell anyone Swan and-"

"And?" she asked, her eyebrows arched.

"And you will have to wait and seen," he replied mysteriously, giving her one last look before settling back into his seat and closing his eyes.

"Hmm, I like the sound of that," she quipped as she too let herself relax. Their hands still intertwined. The warmth of his touch making her cheeks glow.


	9. Sneak

** Prompt: Killian scaling the castle walls to get to Emma's room to give her a gift. He has issues with climbing and not getting caught because it has rained recently and the stones are slippery.**

"Damnit!" he muttered under his breath, as his hook slipped once again on slick, wet stone of the tower. Digging the fingers of his good hand further into the crevice where they clung, he swung his satchel to the other side of his body before digging his hook firmly into the wall.

Slowly he crept up the surface, his feet stumbling every few steps and his muttered curses growing ever louder.

This was indeed a rather ridiculous situation, he had to admit. Trying to surprise the lady Swan with a gift left mysteriously in her chamber. Oh why hadn't he just bribed one of the chamber maids?

He smirked. He knew why. _He liked a challenge_.

Finally he was mere inches away from from the heavy, squared stones that lined the window. With a final push he slung his hook into the surface with a heavy chink, before slowly hauling himself up.

Tossing the satchel ahead of him, he swung his feet up to his side and finally fell inside the room.

And in front of one very beautiful woman.

So much for the surprise.

Stumbling to his feet, he gave a deep bow, meeting her amused smile with one of his own, "Good evening Emma."

"Good evening to you too -or should I say, why are you trying to sneak into my chambers?"

"Ah, so it seems I am caught," he scratched at his chin with his Hook. "My attempt at a surprise has failed."

"What were you doing?" she asked.

Quietly, he picked up his discarded satchel and pulled out a small, paper wrapped package - tied with a black silk ribbon. "Happy Birthday love," he whispered.

Their hands brushed as she took the bundle from him - a quiet 'thank you' dancing on her lips. Her fingers slid open the ribbon and pulled away the soft paper. Inside lay a tiny crystal swan - sparkling beautifully in the dimly lit room. It's tiny carved facets spreading beams of light across the room and over her face. She took in a sharp breath. "It's beautiful," she whispered - her glassy eyes meeting his.

"Then I am pleased the lady finds it agreeable."

She stepped closer, combing one hand into his hair as she pulled his mouth towards hers. "I love it," she promised, her eyes shining with love. "Just next time Killian, please use the door."

"As you wish," he replied, before enveloping her body with his own.


	10. FightFlirt

**I wrote this for an anon prompt who wanted Emma and Hook flirting and fighting.**

"Behind you!" she warned, as a blade came within an inch of slicing through his neck. Quick as a flash, he leaned to his left and lifted up his hook, deftly deflecting the blade before he rose up his sword and plunged it into the chest of his attacker.

Across the clearing, Emma was surrounded by two rogues - each wielding an axe. She moved her attention from one to the other, her blade moving so fast it was barely visible in the twilight.

"Not bad Swan, not bad," he chided as he made light work of a bare chested barbarian who came at him with a large wooden club.

"As if you could do better!" she shouted over the clashes of metal, each swing of the heavy sword eliciting a heavy grunt from within her chest.

"Now now Swan, let's not forget the task at hand! And my, I never though such noises could come from your sweet throat." He danced around another of their attackers, a small man with a patch over his eye. Hook felt pity - this man was no match for him, simply running him through would be bad form. In stead he jumped forward and screamed in his face, "Arrgggh!" until the small man threw down his sword in terror and ran off into the trees.

"Ha!" she cried as her fist made contact with the larger of the two men's face, causing him to stumble back, dazed, into a tree "What was that?"

In a second he was beside her, they were back to back, each with their weapon bared.

"Emma, I do not challenge men who clearly haven't a hope in God's Earth of winning," he tilted back his head and whispered in her ear, "Not my style love."

She grimaced as she launched forward, plunging her sword into the shoulder of her opponent, he cried out in pain, blood spilling down his tunic.

"So much for a pirate," she replied through gritted teeth, as she pulled out her blade and lowered it again, slashing this time across his chest, leaving a red trail in its wake.

"Perhaps I'm not a pirate anymore," he countered, entering into a light-footed duel of axe and blade whilst Emma moved forward to nudge the now lifeless head of the ogre she had just dispensed with, "Perhaps I have turned over a new leaf."

Back at his side, the odds were certainly in their favour and the final attacker launched a last furious assault, swinging and launching his axe at them in desperation. Hook caught the handle of the axe with the tip of his hook, pulling it from his hand and flicking it to one side.

"Aha!" she cried, her blade slicing cleanly across his throat, pausing as the blood began to bubble from the wound and he sank to his knees, "I'll believe that when I see it."

Breathing heavily, he pulled a cloth from his jacket, and began to wipe away the smears of blood that bore evidence of their ambush. "I believe you just did Emma," he replied, tossing her the rag, "And I must say again love, we do make an bloody good team."

She cocked an eyebrow at him as she scrubbed away the last red marks, before sheathing he sword at her hip.

"I think this victory deserves a small celebration," he suggested, taking a small leather covered bottle from his pocket and pulling the cork out with his teeth. Slowly she sauntered towards him, her hips swaying slightly as she met his amused smirk.

Tipping back his neck, he poured a large measure of rum down his throat, keeping his eyes on her the whole time. Closing his mouth, he swallowed slowly before running his tongue across his lips, "Mmm," he murmured, "Delicious." His eyes flashed up and down her body until she snatched the bottle from his and took her own slow measure.

"To victory," she suggested, holding up the bottle to the moonlit sky then taking another large swig.

"To us," he countered, stepping closer, his mouth raised in an amused smile.

"To us," she echoed, a silky tone to her voice, matching his gaze as she took one final, leak surely drink, before turning her back to him, and continuing on the path they had taken before the ambush.

"Come on not-a-pirate, we're late."

"As you wish," he said, a rumble in his voice, as he turned to follow her.


	11. Tell tale signs

**PROMPT: Hook gives Emma a hickey**

"What is that?"

"What is what?" Emma asked, as she speared a pancake onto her plate.

Mary Margaret leaned a little closer over her coffee, knitting her brow and narrowing her eyes, "Wait - is that a bruise?"

"A bruise?" Emma asked, raising her eyebrows until she registered where her mother's gaze rested - right on the juncture between her neck and her shoulder where a certain pirate had been focused on earlier that night.

"On your neck..."

Emma's hand shot to her neck. A roaring hot blush rising fiercely and tainting her cheeks a violent shade of rose. "Um..."

Her eyelashes began to flutter as she bit her lips, "'S nothing. Must have knocked myself at work."

Suddenly Mary Margaret's jaw slid open and her voice dropped to a loud whisper, "Emma - is that a hickey?"

Emma's eyes widened, her fingers slid around her neck covering the offending mark, "No - please, are you serious? I'm not a teenager and-"

"It's Neal isn't it?" Mary Margaret smiled, sliding her chair a little closer to her daughter who had fully given up on her pancakes now and instead sank back a mouthful of milky coffee.

She met her mother's eye.

"No. Neal and I... We're over. I mean, we never even were. At least not this decade."

The dark haired woman's blue eyes began to round slightly, her lips formed a soft 'o' shape and she tilted her head to one side. Emma held her gaze, feeling her hear pound a little.

Damn him. Damn his leather and his god damn innuendos and the way he smelled and how that offer of a nightcap after a chance meeting in The Rabbit Hole had let to her sneaking back into the loft at five am for the third time that week alone.

Damn him.

"So…" Mary Margaret began, her expression puzzled, "Who…? How…."

Emma sighed and licked her lips.

She could lie. Say it was some guy, a stranger even - 'cos that would be better than him right? She knew her mother did not approve. Hell, she was so old fashioned sometimes. Couldn't she see the way they sparked, they complemented each other, how he tended to her and cared for her?

Staring her mother down, she replied softly, "Hook."

"Hook?" her mother cried incredulously, rising slightly out of her seat.

"You see this is why I haven't said anything before this."

"This isn't the first time?"

"God mom, are you really trying to relive my teenage years here by giving me the third degree?"

Mary Margaret sank back in her seat and smoothed her palms over the material of her jeans, "Sorry. You're right. You are a grown woman and you can do whatever you like. But really Emma, him?"

Her mothers disapproval sank in her stomach like a stone tumbling to the bottom of a lake. Bringing her down from the post coital high that had lingered all morning. The disapproval on her face was clear. It was exactly the expression she expected to see from most of Storybrooke should this whatever-is-happening-between-them be made public.

"Why not?" Emma sighed in frustration.

"He's a pirate Emma. You may not know much of our world, but they cannot be trusted. In the end they are always selfish in their motives."

Emma frowned, "So it was selfish helping us save Storybrooke? Find Henry? Save David?"

Mary Margaret's expression froze, her eyes flickered to the floor, "Well, I-"

"I thought you believed in giving people a chance." Emma's eyes squeezed shut for a second. The little bubble of Killian and Emma for the past few weeks was beginning to burst - taking with it her dream land of just the two of them. Reality was pervading, bringing the realisation that maybe what was happening was more than a 'dalliance' as he would say, more than a fling. Something that she wanted to be real and open - and the crushing feeling that if those closest to her couldn't accept them how they could continue.

She felt a warm hand wrap around her wrist.

"You really care about him, don't you?

Emma swallowed and nodded, only letting herself really know this as she met her mother's eye again.

"I'm sorry. I thought it was just - I don't know. I mean I didn't realise it was something-"

A trickle of heat started to run down her spine, filling her with warmth and a buzz of something unexpected yet wanted. This was more than a fling. She did care about him. She didn't want to hide anymore. A burning urge to see him sat on her chest.

"Neither did I…" she mused. Starting, she sat up in her chair. "I'm a grown woman. I can make my own choices. But I still seek my mothers approval."

Mary Margaret reached up and stroked her daughters face, "Have you told him?" Her eyes softened.

"Told him what?" Emma asked.

"That you love him?" her mother replied, a soft smile curling her lips as she ran her thumb over her daughter's cheek.

**Reviews are always appreciated! **


	12. Can't let go - part one

**PROMPT: Emma and Killian have broken up and are both miserable without each other so both get drunk and sleep with each other without realising it**

_I kinda took a different spin on this_

The rattle in her chest was hard to hide. She could feel her nose pinking as the tears that swam in the corners of her eyes threatened to fall.

"Is this what you really want?"

She hesitated - the words sticking in her throat. Her stomach was clenching wildly causing nauseous ripples to rise through her body. The walls of his cabin suddenly felt too close, looming over her like towering sentries pushing her back; urging her forward.

"I-"

And that's when she saw his face. Blue eyes, downcast: dull and flat. Gone that spark of vitality that shone for her. Their gorgeous sky blue, now a more subdued, almost grey shade. His mouth - the one that kissed her so passionately and from whose lips slipped a thousand beautiful words -sat in a straight line; the muscles of his jaw flexing slightly as he waited.

And the only thing she could think to say to him was, "I'm sorry."

Pathetic. She knew it.

His eyes slipped closed, almost as if he was in pain. Her chest clenched. Hurting him was not what she wanted. No, it was the last thing she ever wanted to do. The urge to step forward and pull him close and beg him forgiveness - tell him she was wrong, she had made a mistake-

But then her son's face flashed into her mind. The son who she would do anything for. The boy who dreamt of his mother and father being together. A real family, he'd said. And how could she deny him after everything that had happened?

"I'm sorry," she repeated as she began to step back. He didn't look up. Keeping his eyes to the floor.

"I'm sorry too," she heard him reply as she slipped out of the door, just in time for the tears to begin to fall.

* * *

Scratchy, red, burning, tired eyes. Dry and raw from the crying she had let herself indulge in as she had walked along the harbour. Those tears had dried now, but she knew she held that glassy eyed look that gave away her secret. Quickly she decided to head home, take a nap, clean her face and her thoughts.

"Emma."

She paused, looking over the road, seeing Ruby calling to her.

"Hey Ruby, I'm just-"

Ruby was beside her in an instant - those wolf life reflexes still surprising to the sheriff. "Why do you smell like rum and oak. And why are you crying?"

Emma wanted to laugh. Yep, that sense of smell too. Ruby was not the kind of friend you could keep secrets from it seemed. "I've been to see Hook."

"And?" she prompted, stepping a little closer and giving her a concerned look. Emma paused, she hadn't actually told her friend about her arrangement with the pirate… "Emma. I know. I've know for a while. Did he hurt you?"

"No," Emma scoffed, shaking her head. "Actually, I ended it."

"You did?" replied Ruby, tilting her head in surprise.

"Yes," was the solitary confirmation.

Ruby gave her a small smile and a quick look up and down. "You know what you need?"

"What?" sniffed Emma.

"A drink and some girl talk. Come on."

Linking her arm into Emma's, she pulled the reluctant blonde along the sidewalk, in the direction of The Rabbit Hole.

* * *

"No," Emma drawled, "No more shots!"

The two clear shot glasses filled with tequila sat in front of her, a wedge of lime perched on top of each.

"Last ones, I promise." Ruby's blue eyes sparkled, and for a second they reminded Emma of Killian's. Pain swept over her. In response she grabbed the small silver salt cellar, quickly licking her hand and sprinkling the white grains onto it.

"Bottom's up," she grimaced, forcing down the noxious liquor, trying to make herself forget. If only for a few hours.

* * *

Stretching out her legs, she flexed her toes and rolled her hips into the bed. She rubbed her face against the pillow a few times before turning it to her left. The back of her hands began to ease over the cotton sheets that lined her bed, until her right hand hit something solid.

With a start, she rolled over to her side, grabbing the sheet around her body and scrambling up the bed.

A familiar body lay snoring softly beside her. Shirtless, but still wearing those goddamn leather pants that clung so low on his hips she could see the curve of his ass while his face was buried into her mattress, chest slowly rising and falling.

With her toe, she reached out and prodded his leg, only now realising just how naked she was - completely, no underwear at all.

He groaned softly. She prodded harder, finally kicking him sharply in the thigh.

"Hey!" he cried, turning over a little until he caught her eye, "Ah, Miss Swan, you're awake."

"What- Wait don't you 'Miss Swan' me, what are you doing here?"

"You don't remember?" he smirked, his mouth doing that annoying thing that made her want to kiss him and punch him simultaneously.

"Clearly not," she quipped, reaching for her dressing gown on the floor, memories of several tequilas and innumerable beers tumbling into her mind.

"Two am. The Jolly. You. Drunk."

She had a vague recollection of the sound of waves, darkness, her fist banging on a wooden door-

_Oh no._

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry I - Wait - Why are you _here? _In my bed here. While I'm - you know…"

He flipped into a sitting position, ruffling his hair with his hand, looking ridiculously handsome as he always did first thing in the morning.

"Well, after carrying you home-"

"Carrying?" Emma echoed, shame rippling through her, praying no one else had seen.

"Yes," he nodded, "I managed to get you up here without waking the household and then you would not let me go."

The memory started to form. Her grabbing his arm, his leg-

"Your exact words I believe were - 'I'll scream if you leave'."

"I did say that didn't I… So…" She knotted the robed tightly around her waist, trying not to look at his tightly muscled chest, "Did we-"

And holy hell he _laughed._

"Swan, I am many things. But the kind of blackguard who seduces a clearly incapacitated woman I am not. I was a gentleman all evening. I promise."

His eyes were open and honest and the fear in her chest softened. They were quiet a moment as he picked up his shirt that he had left neatly folded on her dresser. She watched him quickly shrug it on, fascinated that he could button it so quickly one handed.

When he turned to face her, she saw hints of the pain that had etched his face the day before. He tried to hide it with a small smile, but she knew.

'Hook - Killian, about yesterday - daytime I mean-" she added quickly, "I-"

"I understand Emma," he replied, before pausing, deep in thought, "Actually no. I don't understand. But I do respect your decision."

He lying. She knew.

He started to move towards the door. "I'd better leave before your family arises. Wouldn't like them to get the wrong idea." He smiled, but it was a sad smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Did I say anything last night? I mean, why did I go to your ship?"

His hand paused on the door handle. He didn't look back. "No idea love. You get back to sleep."

Then he was gone.

* * *

_Around two am, the night before_

"Hook! Killian!"

The voice was slurred but unmistakable. Killian tried to ignore her. Instead concentrating on the volume of poetry he was currently hunched over.

The was a loud rapping on the door.

"I know you are in there."

He sighed, flipping the book closed and leaning back on his chair.

He had spent the last few hours trying to forget Emma Swan. Bathing and airing his cabin to rid himself of her scent. Reading old logs and journals of a time before her. Tackling those repairs to the ship that really could have waited.

Past midnight he had finally settled with leather-bound copy of Shakespeare's sonnets. In hindsight not the best choice when trying to forget a romance.

"What?" he shouted, not moving.

"Let me in!"

Huffing, he stalked over and flicked the lock on his door. She almost tumbled down the small ladder into his cabin and he managed to catch her - hand and hook around her waist.

'Thanks."

Her breath smelled like alcohol and her face was flushed.

"Why are you here Miss Swan? I thought you had said all you had to earlier."

"Killian… Killian. Oh my Killian-"

He knew she was drunk. Knew this was the alcohol talking, but his heart still clenched at her words.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I was confused and you - you're a pirate - and a villain and I'm supposed to be the saviour. You know?" She was rambling now, words melding into each other, "And what would everyone think? I mean, not that I care, but I should you know? I should… And Mary Margaret, and David and Henry - my family. I have to think of them. Because they make me happy. And … and…." She reached across and balled his shirt in her hand. "I'm sorry. I- well I… you see I think I-"

She stopped, her eyes widened. Her hand rushed to her mouth. Quickly he grabbed a small metal bucket and handed it to her, hunching over she began to vomit into it with aching sobs.

She as drunk. He knew it. It was the alcohol talking clearly. Wasn't it?

As her movements ceased, he patted her on the shoulder. "Come on saviour, time to get you home."

**Reviews are always lovely :D**


	13. Can't let go - part two

_(From this prompt Anonymous asked: Emma and Killian have broken up and are both miserable without each other so both get drunk and sleep with each other without realising it)_

**_Sonnet 116_**

_Let me not to the marriage of true minds_

_Admit impediments. Love is not love_

_Which alters when it alteration finds,_

_Or bends with the remover to remove:_

_O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,_

_That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;_

_It is the star to every wandering bark,_

_Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken._

_Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks_

_Within his bending sickle's compass come;_

_Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,_

_But bears it out even to the edge of doom._

_If this be error and upon me proved,_

_I never writ, nor no man ever loved._

The book flopped closed with a dull thud.

He needed to stop.

Night after night for the past three weeks he had tortured himself with those words of love: committed them to memory so they ran in a stream of consciousness now through his waking moments.

_Honour. Pride. Fear. _These feeling took turn to assault him.

All impediments to the redemption of a lost heart.

A man of honour respects the wishes of the woman he loves.

A man of pride does not beg, or plead.

A heart filled with fear cowers away from rejection; would rather dream in ignorance than drown in reality.

So he just existed; in limbo - in agony. Not having spent a moment in her company since she had turned up - drunk - rambling about being sorry. Aye, sorry was a fine thing to say. But it wasn't 'I want you' or even 'I was wrong'. No, just a sorry without any real qualification to explain it.

Picking up his flask he lifted the bottle to his lips. Empty. He almost wanted to laugh - or cry even. Of all the times for his rum supply to extinguish…

He eyed his coat where it lay across his bed. With a sigh, his eyes flickered closed. It was still early. His mind was numb with her. He needed something to give him the release - to lull him into some kind of unconsciousness, if only a few hours.

Grabbing his coat, he stomped from his quarters and ship into the cool evening air of Storybrooke.

* * *

The bar was a much more intimate watering hole than Granny's. The lighting was patchy and allowed for a number of darker spaces where one could brood if one so wished.

And Killian wished to brood.

A bottle of spiced rum ('Captain Morgan's' - that had made him smile wryly) sat accompanied by a single heavy bottomed lowball glass. A glass that never lingered empty for more than a few seconds as the pirate drowned his sorrows in the sweet spiciness of exotic alcohol that evoked memories of a past lifetime.

He was thankful to be mostly ignored - the residents of Storybrooke still guarded in their attitude towards him.

_Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds._

The line lingered in his mind; repeating over and over until he thought he was going mad. Another sip of rum. Then another. Then another-

Then he felt a light pressure on his shoulder. He swung his head to his left and was greeted by blood red leather and tumbling blonde hair.

"Can we talk?" she asked, settling in across the table from him without waiting for an answer.

His lips rolled into wry smile, wrapping around his teeth, his tongue slipping over their pinkness. "Doesn't seem like I have much say in that, does it?"

Emma's pale brow crumpled a little. Then he noticed her eyes looked tired, dark shadows dusting below them. His heart stung a little. The bloom of love inside him had not withered and her new proximity was a crushing reminder that she had let him go.

"I've been hoping you would turn up soon."

"Had your spies out for me?" He tried to make it should like a joke, but there was a harsh edge to his tone that he instantly regretted.

"Stanley called," she replied, gesturing to the bartender.

"Hmm," he grumbled. The scent of rum began to mingle with her sweet perfume, he soaked it in , letting it wash over him and pretending that things were different - if only for a few seconds.

"So…" she seemed to hesitate. Taking a quick breath before stealing the glass from his hand and finishing the drink. His eyes widened as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"What is it Emma? Not that I am not enamoured with your company… I was just under the impression any intimacy we held was over."

She shuffled in her seat, bringing her hands together in front of her, fingers lightly laced. "I want to apologise. For my behaviour. The alcohol and the turning up at your ship. I'm sorry."

"No apology necessary, Swan."

"But," she reached out and touched his hand - her skin soft and warm, "I feel… I don't know. I just want you to know. I mean, I need you to know that I never meant to hurt you."

"Like I said," he replied, meeting her green eyed gaze, "No apology necessary. Perhaps you have overestimated your impact on my well-being."

He could see the hurt pool in her eyes, muting the vibrance of their colour. The corners of her lips flinched, turning down just that fraction of an inch that most would not notice, but he did. She opened her mouth to speak again.

"I-"

But he didn't want to hear it. Or more correctly couldn't listen to her say any more. Snatching the bottle still half full with rum, he stood quickly, giving her a stiff bow.

"M'lady."

"Hook-" she began. It was too late, as he was gone.

* * *

Salt filled his lungs, fighting against the rum he had consumed. He wearily climbed the gangplank, slumping down against the gunwale almost as soon as he stepped on board. Twisting off the cap from the bottle, he tipped it back into his throat. The burn soothing the throbbing in his heart; his blood warming against the chill.

The sound of footsteps against wood assaulted his ears.

"What the hell was that?"

He laughed, almost in spite of himself.

"My dear, you are awfully persistent for one who decided that I was surplus to requirement in her life."

"I never said that," she countered, crouching down so she could meet his eye level.

"Didn't you?" he asked, with a hint of challenge.

Shaking her head she muttered, "I never meant- I mean I… I was trying to do what was best."

"And I respect that love. But I am bewildered as to why you feel this incessant need to apologise. Go. Be with your son and his father. That's what all this was about right?"

This unspoken truth had lingered on his mind these passing weeks. Her silence was his confirmation.

"I see." He pushed himself up with his hook, slung the bottle of rum under his arm and turned towards his quarters.

"Wait-"

Her hand was on his again. Still soft and warm, but now clutching tightly, blanching his skin. He felt his coolness towards her melt a little - how he had craved her touch on many a silent night . Craved her warmth and her laugh and the way she settled in the crook of his shoulder when they lay in his bunk.

"You're wrong."

"About?"

"Everything. Me. You. Neal."

He flinched at the other man's name. Her other hand reached for his wrist, anchoring him in place. He didn't reply.

"I'm not with Neal. I tried. For Henry. But I couldn't pretend - I-" She pulled herself closer, "Every time I got close to him, I saw your face, I felt your presence. I could smell you even. I thought I was going crazy."

He swallowed but still did not look at her, diligently looking out across the bow to the twinkling lights of the town.

"You see, I realised something."

"And what would that be?" he drawled.

"That I'm an idiot. That I can't live my life for someone else - and trying to makes neither of us happy."

"Well Swan, whilst your revelation is indeed an interesting one, I think it is time for me to retire."

He shrugged away her hands and made to move.

"Don't you see?" she cried, frustration evident even as her voice was carried away on the light sea breeze. "It's you I need. I _want. _Damnit."

Her hand thumped softly against his chest, instinctively he looked down. There were tears glistening in her eyes.

"Emma…" her name lingered over his lips like a prayer, his face etched in concern for a second, before he pulled back on his stoic mask. "I'm not a toy, Emma - something to be played with at will. I have little desire to be pushed back and forth by your changing whim."

And she scanned his face, her expression so serious he was worried for a second that she had some other, terrible news to share.

"I know." She reached up and cupped his face with both her hands. The warmth of her flooded his body, making him rub his cheek against her palms. "You see I realised something else. I don't just want you. I love you."

For a second, he thought he had misheard. Perhaps her words had altered in the wind. Maybe the alcohol was causing him to hallucinate.

"You-" he cocked his head, knitting his brows together as her revelation set in.

"Love you. Completely. So much that these few weeks have hurt my heart - not seeing you, telling myself to stay away. But I can't."

He froze. Her mouth paused slightly open. Her pink lips, soft and inviting as ever - even more so after their last words spoken.

"I'm so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

Those last barriers melted away as he saw the simple truth in her words and face - that bloom of love inside him crashing through the last restraint that he had so perilously built around his heart. With a sudden urgency, he pulled her towards him, crushing her in his embrace, drowning her question with his kisses, answering her with lips.

He showered her in those kisses, soft, fast, chaste, suffocating - before slipping his mouth to her ear - "My love," he whispered, slipping his arm under her hips and leading her into the ship.

"Your love," she echoed, digging her fingers into the buttery leather of his coat and holding him tight.

* * *

_Thirty minutes earlier_

There was a vacuum in the space where he had been sat. It seemed to suck in the air from around it, bringing her along for the ride. His scent lingered still. How she had missed it. She remembered how it would stay on her skin for hours after she left him. She'd even stolen one of his shirts from his cabin one morning and hidden it in her dresser. Every time she looked at it, held it - she felt him. Even as the scent began to fade with the passing weeks it was all she had left of him.

And now he was gone.

Left, just as she had left him.

_No, _her heart thumped, _no. This is not how it ends._

But how does it end? Her mind whispered in reply.

_That's up to you, _her heart fluttered.

And then she knew what she had to do. She couldn't lose him. Not again.

**A/N - the flash back at the end of this story is a mirroring of the flashback in part one (in case you are confused!)**

**PS - Reviews are lovely :)**


	14. Wardrobe Change

**Prompt: Henry starts wearing eyeliner, because Hook does it and Hook is "cool"**

**_Loved this prompt!_**

"Bye mom."

Henry's voice was light and casual as he breezed past the kitchen table, heading towards the apartment door. She looked up, catching a brief glimpse of black leather. She frowned - _what the hell?_

"Stop. Turn. Explain," she commanded in her stern, 'I'm the sheriff and your mother' voice. Henry stopped mid-step and slowly pivoted around until they were face to face. Emma's mouth dropped. Quickly she made up the ten feet of space between them, grasping his chin and pulling his head back so she could see his face more clearly.

"What the -," she bit her tongue, "What is this Henry!"

"I went shopping with Hook," he said with a small shoulder shrug and an innocent smile. HIs new leather biker jacket creaked with the movement. Her eyes flickered down to look at her now teenage son dressed all in black.

"Okay, that explains the clothes - but what about the eyeliner?"

Henry's eyes were lined with a clear stripe of inky black kajal - it made him look older and her heart ached: he was growing up so fast.

"I think it looks cool," he replied, "Hook showed me how to do it."

Emma sighed in frustration. She should have known letting Killian take care of her son for a day would result in some kind of mischief. Rolling her eyes she thought she had actually gotten off lightly - at least there had no permanent amendments to her sons body.

"I'm not sure how I feel about you going to the party dressed like this," she warily eyed his outfit - unsure still how a mother should react in such a circumstance: should she be mad? Should she laugh?

"Well I like it," he insisted, "Hook's really cool mom."

Her resistance melted a little as her son complimented the pirate - her recent (if still unknown to most) lover.

"Okay - well fine. But only on weekends." Henry nodded enthusiastically, "And take all that stuff off before bed."

"I will!." She gave him a light kiss on the forehead before he started to race towards the door. She watched him pull it open then turn back, as if he had forgotten something. "Oh mom, I forgot something. Next week Hook's going to show me how to pierce my ear! Bye."

Openmouthed, she watched the door slam shut. She sighed, seething slightly as she stalked over to her phone where it lay on the kitchen countertop and pressing redial.

"Killian," she growled as the call was picked up, "Get your ass over here right now."

"Yes m'lady," he laughed.

And she had an inkling he had done all this on purpose.

**Reviews are always a treat!**


	15. Truth or Dare

"Truth."

He refilled the shot glasses with large measures of rum, licking his lips as he watched her think.

"When did you first, you know, realise you liked me." She seemed almost shy and chased her question with her drink, eyes watering as it trickled down her throat.

"Well," he rubbed his index finger up his cheek, "I'm not sure is I ever liked you Swan-"

"Hey!" she cried, kicking him under the table in mock indignation.

"But, if you mean when I realised I was utterly, devastatingly in love with you - it's hard to say. You took me by surprise."

Her cheeks glowed under the dim lights above their booth. The Rabbit Hole was quiet tonight. No one yet knew about her and the pirate but she felt safe hidden at the back of the bar.

Her glass was quickly refilled and she studied the rum. "Truth."

"Same question."

She rolled her eyes. She had really set herself up for this one.

"Well you are quite persistent Mr. Jones," her eyes flashed up to meet his through long dark lashes, "But I'd say it was when I kissed you that first time. I'd not wanted to do something that badly in forever, not felt like that in a long time."

His eyes widened at her confession. "You took me by surprise there too Emma. But I had no idea it has such an effect on you. I like this game," he smirked, "Honesty is underrated."

"Indeed," she replied, sinking back another shot.

She splayed her hands out not the table, fingers tracing the lines of the oak whilst the rum began to burn through her veins. She really shouldn't have let him choose their drink tonight.

"Time for a dare, I think," he teased, a beaming smile pulling across his face.

Emma ran her tongue along her lip, "Hmmm." She looked around the room. Their bottle of rum was nearly gone. "I dare you to steal a bottle of rum from behind the bar."

"You do realise you are meant to be a figure of law enforcement not breaking in this town Swan," his brow ached accusingly.

She shook his protests away, "I'll pay for it. I just want to see if you can get away with it."

"As you wish," he nodded, finishing his drink before standing and moving away.

She watched him creep closer, watching the bartender keenly until his back was turned and he reached over the bar grabbing a bottle and slipping it under his coat until he was back at the table all within two minutes.

Producing the bottle with a flourish, he popped off the cork with his thumb.

"I'm impressed," she admitted, mentally calculating the excess cash to leave and reminding herself to apologise tomorrow to the owner.

"And what next for you?"

She shifted in her seat, eyes narrowing. She swallowed. "Dare."

With a sigh he sank back in his seat, twisting his mouth a little, just watching her.

"I, Killian Jones, dare you, Emma Swan, to come over here right now and kiss me."

"Here?" she asked, a little too high pitched.

"Here," he echoed, voice flat.

She nervously looked around, yes there were no good friends around, but a few acquaintances who may see, who may spread the word, who would tell a friend of a friend - because most people at least knew the sheriff by sight.

Ah, fuck it she thought. Maybe it was the rum or maybe it was the way he looked at her with those damn eyes and his mouth curved in a teasing smile.

She slid from her seat around into his, settling herself in his lap, straddling his thighs.

She felt his chest heave against her.

Then she grabbed the collar of his coat and crashed his mouth against hers, as if her life depended on it, catching him by surprise and leaving him short of breath as she pressed on.

A few low wolf whistles rose up in the room behind her.

"Get a room sheriff!"

He was still nipping at her lips when she pulled back.

"I really do like this game Swan."

Smiling wryly, she jumped up and grabbed the bottle of rum, tossing down a handful of notes.

"You know something? This game only gets better in private."

And she turned and began to walk out of the bar. He watched, stunned, for a moment until he composed himself and raised after her, ignoring the catcalls and jeering of the bar patrons as he left.


	16. Civvies

"Hurry up!"

There was a sigh.

She raised her fist and banged on the door, growing impatient.

"I look bloody ridiculous!"

"I'm sure you don't," she replied rolling her eyes, "And in any case I can't risk taking you out of Storybrooke in your usual choice of clothing. You attract way too much attention - you look like you're on your way to a costume party, or a biker convention or something."

"If you insist," he sighed.

"Do David's clothes fit you?" she asked.

"What do you think?" he asked, pulling open her bedroom door, a scowl marring his otherwise handsome features.

Suddenly Emma felt lightheaded.

Yes they fit him. Boy, did they fit him.

His legs where clad in dark denim jeans, held up with a this brown belt where his thumb was currently hooked. The light grey Henley she had given him was unbuttoned, his silver chain and chest hair peeking out, exposing a delicious sliver of skin which stopped way too early for her liking. The dark blue shirt he wore on top was rolled to the elbow, allowing his brace to be fully visible on one arm.

She felt her breathing slow as she took him in. All dark hair and lean muscle hell he made her heart beat faster and her body heat up so quickly it always took her by surprise.

She would never admit it to him but she LOVED the pirate get up. All that leather and black and danger was so ridiculously sexy she often found it hard to keep her hands off him.

But this… This was different. Another side to him. He could almost pass for a normal inhabitant of this world. Almost.

Her stomach clenched and she bit her lip.

"Um…" she mumbled, her eyes crawling all over his body. Enjoying the way the shirt was just the right side of tight to show off his lean muscles without giving too much away.

"I take it you approve love."

"You could say that…"

He ran his hand over his stubbled jaw.

Damn he looked so hot.

"So, when do we leave?" he asked, with an innocent smile.

Her eyes flashed down to her watch. "We have half an hour before we meet Mary Margaret and David"

"Mmm, a lot can be achieved in thirty minutes."

She smirked, pushing him backwards into her room. "How about we test that theory out?"

The door slammed shut and those clothes didn't stay on him for very long.

But he did learn how to redress a little quicker.


	17. A Slice of Heaven

_**A tropical island for two...**_

The warmth of the morning wrapped around him like a soft blanket: comforting and pleasurable, dusting over his skin. The air was slightly damp with the dew that descended before the sun fully rose.

Aye. This must be heaven.

He settled back into his pillow and looked out of the open window of the simple wooden hut. Beyond empty frame were the clear blue skies of the ocean: rays of sunlight streaking across it as sea birds made their lazy way through the scene. Just peeking out to the right he could see the dark mast of the Jolly bobbing gently on the ocean breeze.

Heaven.

Beside him, body curled and cocooned on her side, lay the woman that had made this all possible. The woman who made this a truly unearthly experience. Emma. His Emma.

Tendrils of blonde hair trailed down her back and swept over her shoulders, like a golden shawl. The thin, white linen sheet that covered her body highlighted the light tan she had developed over the last week. He leaned across and kissed her lightly on the shoulder. Pausing over her to take in her smell, listen to the sound of her soft breathing and let his lips linger on her skin.

Aye. Heaven.

Quietly, he slipped from the bed, careful not to wake her. He stretched his back, reaching out his arms - flexing the fingers of his right before picking up his discarded brace and tightening the small leather buckles against his forearm. He didn't bother dressing. This week had been very light on clothing. With an entire tropical Island to themselves, they had slipped into a simple, easy kind of living. Fresh fruit, lying in the sun, making love under the stars.

Bliss.

He stepped out from the hut: the sun's heat growing more intense as he emerged from the shadows. The warmth was soothing against his skin. For a second he paused, turning his face up to the sunshine and soaking in it's radiance. He sent a silent prayer to however had given him this second chance at life and happiness. Hell, he was sure he hadn't deserved it. But he was thankful all the same.

Pushing that thought aside, he set about collecting their breakfast - coconut, mango and a bunch of ripening bananas. As he returned to the hut, his eyes swept across the beach's golden sands, glistening silently like a million tiny diamonds. He wished they could stay there for ever on this little isle. Just the two of them. Alas…

"Morning love," he whispered, settling onto the bed beside her. Gently he ran his fingers down the side of her face, enjoying the way she smiled as she rolled onto her back, before her eyes opened and meeting his.

"Good morning," she replied with a yawn.

Her eyes were clear and sparking - still holding that glow for him that made a cry catch in his throat and his heart beat faster. How had he ever been so fortunate as to win the heart of such a woman?

"Breakfast?" he asked, picking up a coconut and skewering a hole in it with his hook.

"Mmm," she murmured as she took a greedy gulp, a trail of milk trickling down her chin, "You are spoiling me Mr. Jones."

He smirked slightly, as he leaned forward and stopped the trail with his thumb. "Well,_ Mrs._ Jones, it is my responsibility now to take care of you."

With a sigh, she rolled her eyes and lay her head back against her small pillow. "I've told you a million times, pirate, I can take care of myself."

"And I, saviour, would normal agree. But as it stands, it's not only you I am worrying about now."

Soft eyes dropped to her stomach. His hand began to slide across it's rounded surface, already firm and clearly protruding in a perfect little bump.

"Well, I'm pregnant, not incapacitated," she replied, slipping her hand over his and threading their fingers together.

"Have I never told you not to argue with me?" She rolled her eyes. "And do not the wedding vows require you to obey?"

She struggled to sit up, her balance slightly disturbed by her new growth, "You know I had Robin take out that part."

"Pity," he smiled. "I like the idea of an obedient wife."

"As if," she scoffed, "You'd hate it."

He looked at his wife - full in the bloom of pregnancy, cheeks red, eyes wide and full of hope. "Perhaps."

"So," she said, letting out a contented sigh, "What shall we do today?"

Settling beside her on the bed, he drew his arm across her shoulder and pulled her close. "I thought we may continue our conversation about children's names. I feel our little lad will need a good strong name. Maybe Killian Jones Jr. It is tradition for a first born to be named after it's father."

She jabbed him in the side with her elbow, whilst at the same time wriggling closer to him. "Hey! First of all, how do you know we are having a boy?"

He shrugged.

"And who said we are using the name Jones? Why not Swan? Or Swan Jones? Or Jones Swan? And don't even get me started on that patriarchal ideas of male-"

And Killian Jones began to laugh. A soft yet hearty chuckle as he listened to his wife begin a heated defence of feminine rights. Gods she drove him mad but he wouldn't change her for the world.

Aye, heaven indeed.

_**Reviews = :D**_


	18. Fuckstruck

**'Cos Hook has this hold over Emma that she just can't resist...**

_Yeah, M for language. _

Hip buttressed against the bar, one elbow resting on its surface with his good hand wrapped around a mug of frothy beer. The clasps on his leather vest strained over his chest. His shirt open even lower than usual. More skin. More hair.

She couldn't stop staring.

Those damn leather pants. Black and tight and .. Urgh. Legs crossed nonchalantly at the ankle, hips facing the room as he chatted to the man to his left. Belt slung low, emphasising his waist, drawing her eyes in - keeping them magnetised to that spot just above his groin for an embarrassingly long time until she had to shake her head and pull away.

_Fuck._

She felt a stirring in the pit of her belly. Dangerously low. The deep sigh she let out rolled straight to her core. Her eyes flashed closed. Her tongue darted over her lips.

_God._

That stupid collar of his goddamn coat was pulled up high around his neck. Again. Why did he do that? It made his neck look broader (and for some reason that was a huge turn on) and the urge to ring her hands around it and drag his mouth to hers was almost unbearable…

And of course, she now started thinking about his lips. But this was an even worse idea as those she knew. Briefly, but hell, the memory was imprinted on her psyche. Supple. Pliant. Demanding. Burning up a fever in her chest, casting her breathing into a hitching rhythm. Darkening her vision-

Pushing out her bottom lip, she squeezed her eyes closed and slunk back further into the shadowy corner where she hid.

A cool sweat rose on her forehead; her heart chasing the beat of the music that thumped across the room - her chest reverberating slightly against it's force.

The bottle of beer in her hand, almost forgotten, was brought into use - pressed against her skin, drawing out the heat. Replacing damp sweat with cool condensation. Spent, she tipped the bottle to her lips and took an eager sip.

_Calm. Down._

Slowly, she leant forward. He'd turned to his side. His hair was sporting that I'm-messy-but-in-a-sexy-way look that she shouldn't find attractive. But christ she did. She shouldn't want to sink in her fingers and tug on it until his head whipped back. Emma shouldn't be thinking about how it was tatted and full of sea salt. And certainly not how his raven hair would look with hers splayed across it has she straddled his chest and-

_Goddamn it Swan!_

It had been long. So damn long… _How long…_

A year? 18 months? She did the quick maths and a flicker of realisation sparked. Two years. Two, long, lonely,_ frustrating_ years.

No wonder her heart raced and her belly twitched and her mind lost all focus. Cos there was no denying that Hook was hot. Brutally so.

No that she'd ever admit that.

Cradling her beer, she tried to look natural, twisting to look around the room. Hoping no one would notice that the town sheriff was perving on the town pirate while she waited for her friends to arrive.

Because she'd never live that down.

A glance in his direction.

_Shit._

He'd seen her.

Those blue eyes: they almost had a innocent edge to them. So clear and blue. But that naughty little twinkle and their rim of kohl liner screamed pure sex. A hard ball formed in her stomach, pressing deeper. She felt her mouth fall open. Unconsciously she ran her tongue along her bottom teeth; her breathing changing, each breath coming from her very depths and almost growling as it was released.

That sly side smile. Eyes flashed closed for a second, his head dipped. He was still staring.

That little shit knew what he was doing.

She managed to nod in reply and acknowledge him, even as she cursed herself inside.

And then he was walking towards her. A swagger in his stride. Coat swaying side to side. (Hell - why did he insist on wearing it - still?). Cocky little smile on his face. Eyebrow rising when he got within earshot.

"Miss Swan."

Holy hell he smelled good. All leather and sea air and liquor.

_Stop that._

"Hook." She gave a curt nod. The thundering ebb and flow of her heartbeat rose and her fingers began to feel the pulse throbbing through.

"Alone?" he asked. His feet edged a little closer. He was against the wall just opposite her now. Face half in shadow.

"Early."

His face twisted in amusement. He took a sip of his beer. She watched his neck contract as he swallowed, eyes following the movement, distracted for a second.

He was too damn close. Everything was magnetised. Words stuck in her mouth. Her throat seemed to constrict. Her eyelids fluttered of their own accord. She couldn't keep eye contact, instead glancing at the busy bar behind him.

Then he touched her.

His arm reached out. Curled around her shoulder. Warm skin shooting cool bursts up her arms. Then her skin began to burn - a cool burn, like from ice. She flinched away.

"Uh-"

"Are you okay Swan?"

Words mingled and twisted and tangled in her mind, becoming a jumble of letter and sounds - shifting and churning, mixing with a sense of nausea inside her that made the room begin to sway.

"I-"

So she ran. Barely clutching on to her beer, pushing past the crowds, leaving cries of sorry in her wake. Diving into the bathroom and slamming it shut with her back.

Silence. Almost.

Just the thump of her heart mixed with the muffled bar sounds.

She pressed her hand to her chest. Swallowed deep breaths.

_Calm down._

Heart fluttering: relief descended like a cool view.

Then a bang on the door.

"Swan!"

_Just ignore him…_

"Swan!"

_Fuck._

"What was that all about?"

_Just wait._

"I'm not leaving until you open the door."

And she knew he was a stubborn enough fool to do just that.

Steeling herself, she turned and released the handle, not expecting him to be so close when she opened the door. His brow furrowed. He looked concerned.

Why was she finding that a turn on?

His eyes searched her face. She swallowed slowly.

He was too…Too… Too much everything.

Eyes. Lips. Eyes. She looked from one to the other.

His head tilted questioningly to one side. He parted his lips as if to speak.

But her hand was on his vest, dragging him inside before he could. And a moment later her lips were on his and his back was pressed against the cool tiled wall and her hands were clutching his chest and her leg hitching up on his hip.

"What the-?"

She pressed a finger on his lip, "Now's not the time."

Then she dove in again for another taste, hand reaching over and slipping the lock closed.

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

"Where is she?" Ruby asked. Mary Margaret turned around and handed her a beer.

"No idea. We are only fifteen minutes late!"

Ruby shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Hey," she called to the bartender, "You seen Sheriff Swan?"

He cocked a thumb towards the back of the bar, "I saw her head that way."

"Maybe she went to the bathroom?"

"I'll go look," smiled Mary Margaret as she handed Ruby her drink and headed back towards the ladies.


	19. Daddy

"Emma?"

She hadn't expected him to return so soon. Quickly she wiped away the dampness from her cheeks, sniffing slightly as she tried to smooth down the hair that had become mussed up from the pillow.

"Emma-" The door crept open, "There you are love."

The smile on his face made her heart want to crack in two right there. The way he looked at her never ceased to take her breath away. No one had ever looked at Emma Swan like that before. Like she was his sun and moon and stars and everything in between. He loved her so completely it scared her sometimes.

"Killian. I thought you were going to the station..." She sniffed a little again and her lips stretched into a small, thin smile that did not extend to her eyes.

"Aye that was the plan but then-" he stopped and tilted his head. His eyes narrowed as he focused on her face. "Emma love, what's wrong!"

"Wrong?" She shook her head. "Nothing. Just tired." She stretched out her hands and faked a yawn. He did not seem convinced. Instead he moved swiftly to sit down on the edge of the bed.

"You've been tired for weeks my love," his voice was edged with concern as he reached out and cupped her face with his hand, "I'm worried. You must rest."

The warmth of his hand was a balm to her worries. She turned her head and kissed the slightly calloused skin of his palm and then rubbed her cheek against it, letting his fingers begin to dig into her hair.

"I know-" she began, before looking up into his beautiful blue eyes, "There's a reason though. Why I'm tired."

"Are you sick?" The panic in his eyes as they widened was abundantly clear and all she wanted to do right then was wrap her arms around her pirate and smother him with love.

"No - no. I'm not sick."

Sighing, she reached over to the bedside table and handed him something. He looked down at it, puzzled, his forehead creased.

"I don't understand - what is this?" He held up the small white stick. The next words stuck in her throat.

"That is a pregnancy test. Women in realm use them to see if they are..." Her voice trailed off and she ended her words with a small smile.

At first he still seemed confused. Then a spark of recognition flared in his eyes and he looked down at the small blue cross at the tip of the stick.

"Emma. Are you-"

She nodded, her heart in her throat.

"And I'm-"

"You're going to be a father," she whispered.

The test fell from his hands and his mouth dropped open. She'd never seen Killian Jones struck dumb before but she figured this what it must look like.

"Say something. Please."

His hand clenched. She felt sick. It was too soon. They had only been together a few months. He was going to run away and leave her. Like everyone always did.

She was lost in her thoughts when he awoke from his daze; lunging forward and pressing her back against the soft pillows, covering her in soft feather like kisses interspersed with mutterings of, 'my love'.

Catching his face in her hands, she held him above her, their noses almost touching.

"Are you happy?"

"My love, no man has ever felt the sheer joy that is coursing through my veins right now. A child? A child!" The look of pure love he gave her was overwhelming and she wanted to remember this moment for the rest of her life. "Emma Swan, until I met you I thought my life was over. I saw nothing but a blackness in my future. But you taught me I could love again," she blushed, "That that side of me was still alive. And what could be more perfect than a child born of that love. Our love."  
She circled her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss - one of love and promise and hope. She thought she might burst with happiness.

He lifted away and rested his forehead on hers. "My love, why were you crying? I can still see the redness in your eyes. Are you not happy?"

She rubbed her nose against his cheek and placed a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I'm scared. I've never felt this way before. People who I care about have a habit of leaving me. And with a baby too - I don't think I could cope-"

"Shhhhh," he hushed, rubbing his thumb over her cheek, "A thousand horses could not drag me from your side my love. I'm afraid you are stuck with me."

She laughed, a small light giggle that cracked the shell of tension that had been forming around her. Her head sank to his shoulder and his arms wrapped around her waist.

"Come back to bed," she whispered.

"How can I deny the mother of my child a single thing?"

And while he stood and slipped off his coat and boots, Emma Swan let herself relax, really relax, for the first time for the first time in years.

She was blissfully happy and infatuated with this man who would go to the ends of the Earth for her. How did she get so lucky?

And she had to admit, 'the mother of my child' had a nice ring to it.

She pulled back the covers and beckoned him closer. "Come here daddy."

"Daddy," he replied, a stupid happy grin on his face as joined her under the blanket and cocooned her body with his own.


	20. Tokens

_**A battle is raging. Hook and Emma exchange necklaces. **_

"Come here," she whispered, dampening the sleeve of her shirt with her tongue before cleaning the blood from his forehead that had trickled from shallow gash just below his hairline.

"Emma, stop. Please."

He caught her hand with his and she gave him a pained smile.

All around them was dark. It was eerily silent. The sounds of explosions and clashes of swords strangely absent.

They both knew why. This was the calm before the storm: the final assault.

"You need to be more careful," she told him, twisting around her hand until her fingers were entwined with his and she could feel the rapid racing of his pulse through his fingertips.

"I _need_ to protect you," he insisted.

Her eyes sank closed and she let her head roll forward slightly.

She wanted to argue with him - to say, no, you have to look after yourself. But she knew that that would be useless: the damn, stubborn pirate.

"Your son needs you and I promised him that no harm would befall you."

Looking up, she saw the sincerity in his soot smudged face: blackened as it was from the smoke of the fires that had ravaged most of Storybrooke that day.

"Oh God I hope he is safe…"

She let her walls buckle for a moment - let the fear that Belle hadn't been able to get him to safety quickly enough cloud her judgement and the stinging tears that she had held back all day began to peal down her face.

"Shhhhh," he hushed, disentangling his hand and moving it to the back of her head so he could pull her closer to his chest. "You mustn't think like that. Henry is fine. You will see him again - soon. I promise."

"You do?" she asked with creeping uncertainty.

"I do," he declared, punctuating his statement with a soft kiss on the top of her head.

And she allowed him to hold her like this, almost swaddling her in his arms, her face pressed against his body - the cool silver of his pendants digging into her cheek.

Calming her breathing she gave herself permission to soak in his scent, the feel of his body and the rhythm of his chest rising and falling against her own.

Finally, she looked up again.

"I need you to make me another promise."

"Anything," he replied instantly.

"You have to promise me, that when this is all over, you will still be in one piece," she glanced down at his missing left hand and laughed in spite of herself, "Well, you know what I mean."

His brow creased and his lips pinched and she knew what was going through his mind.

"Promise me," she urged.

He sighed deeply.

"You know I cannot promise you that, love."

Reaching up, she slipped her hand around his neck and nudged him to look at her. "But you have to. I- I-."

What to say, how to put it - _what did she even mean_?

_She couldn't lose him._

"We - us - this… It's barely even begun," she tilted her head and kissed him lightly on the lips, "So you can't leave me. You can't." Her voice cracked a little at the end.

He seemed restless: fidgeting against the wall he was lying against and scratching his hook against the dirt ground.

"Emma…"

"I get it," she sniffed, wrapping her fingers around the chain on his neck and drawing her fingers down until the grasped the twin pendants that hung from it, "You don't want to make a promise that you can't keep. Well. In that case-"

She moved her hands to the back of her neck and undid the circle pendant that she always wore, deftly wrapping it around his neck and fixing it in place. "This has brought me - well, not luck exactly but it has kept me safe. I want you to wear it. And when this is all over, you can give it back to me."

With a wry smile he began to run his fingertips over the shiny, flat surface of the pendant, rolling it between them before lifting it to his lips and placing a kiss on the metal.

"Now your neck is bare… Here."

Quickly he tugged his own jewellery from his neck and pressed it into her hands. "Pirate's luck, so they say - the dagger and the skull. Bravery and mortality."

He'd never discussed the meaning of these items before and she was intrigued and wanted to ask more questions, but was halted by the sound of a large explosion nearby. Nimbly, she pulled the chain over her neck and flipped out her hair, letting the pendants dip below her shirt and hang near her heart.

"Now even if we are separated, we will still be together," he told her.

And she just _knew_ he meant this as a parting gift. She knew he thought he would die; that dying would be worth it to protect her.

Grabbing his collar she pulled him close, their lips almost touching, "You are not going to die."

He held her gaze - blue eyes burning, the sounds of fighting rising and getting closer. Her stomach clenched and her chest burned. The cool metal of the silver charms biting her skin as the flesh of her body seemed to be on fire.

"Come here love."

Tilting his head, he leaned in for a kiss - a heady, deep kiss of longing and hope and - yes - goodbyes.

Pulling her to stand, he pressed one more kiss to her forehead before leading her in the direction of the battle whilst withdrawing his sword.

"Let's go," he urged and she followed, feeling the heavy swing of the metal as it thumped against her chest, the space where her own pendant had rested was now bare.

And as she watched him lead her into battle, she focussed on that necklace.

He didn't know that Regina had taught her how to enchant it. Didn't know that there was a protection spell attached and that was what had allowed her to stay relatively unscathed thus far and most importantly didn't know that now he was under it's influence.

She felt the magic flow from her and wrap around him - it was invisible, of course, but gave her a sensation akin to being magnetised.

Her mind eased.

He would be safe.

She did not need to worry.

Pulling out her own sword, she charged ahead into the smoke clogged streets...


	21. Take a Chance

Taking her hand, he slipped down on one knee. It wasn't easy. She could see the way his face flinched from his wounds - the open gash on his thigh was weeping a slow trail of crimson blood. But though his face was darkened with the dirt of battle he was smiling. At her.

"Emma-"

She swallowed, heart racing.

"Life is not always what we think it will be. I thought mine was over." He tightened his grip on her fingers, "Until I met you."

She sucked back a cry. In the distance the sound of timbers burning crackled in the air as the makeshift band of firemen tried to put out the remaining fires.

"You have given me purpose. You have made me a better man, my love. And hell, I don't deserve even one ounce of you," his head dropped and hung low. He dug the curve of his hook into the ground, pushing it back and forth - gathering his thoughts.

Reaching down, she fanned her fingers over his face, his eyelids slipping closed as they moved. She smooth back his unruly hair as he looked back at her, eyes shining.

"For some reason, I'm alive. After all this," he raised his hook at the devastation that was downtown Storybrooke. Rubble. Ruins. "And I think I know why."

Bringing her hand to his mouth, he kissed it softy.

"You, my love, you are my reason for being, for living… I've lived so I can love you - like you deserve to be loved. Let me love you. Marry me."

Her mouth dropped open and she sucked in a breath, tumbling at once to her knees so they were face to face. Wrapping her arms around his neck. she pulled him into a warm embrace.

"I never wish to be parted from you again Emma. Be my wife."

She eased back, nuzzling her nose against his cheek and softly kissing him on the mouth.

"Is that a yes?" he asked.

"Yes," she murmured into his lips, "Yes, yes, yes…"

And tears of laughter mingled with tears of joy as they sank into each others embrace and dared dream of what the future may hold.


	22. Wounds

**A sequel to Tokens**

'Ow."

Sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth, Emma hissed as she slid off the torn remnants of her shirt. Her joints ached with fatigue and the burn that covered half her cheek throbbed relentlessly.

"Easy there Swan," he commanded, helping her pull the garment over her wrists and swiftly placing a cool compress on the red patch on her face.

The relief was instant. The burn crackled slightly as the heat moved to the damp cloth. The fierce fever slowly replaced by a cool ache.

Sat on the floor of Granny's Diner's kitchen, Emma leaned back onto the cold tiled wall and watched as Killian dampened more cloths under the taps, before filling a bowl with warm water.

"We'd better check for more injuries. She got you quite hard with that last blast."

"Just a scratch," Emma murmured as tiredness descended. All she wanted to do was sleep…

"No, Swan-" he cried, lightly slapping her cheeks, "Don't!"

"Hmm," she groaned drowsily through hooded eyes, giving him a lazy smile, "I'm tired…"

"And that is exactly why you need to stay awake. Come," he commanded urging her to shuffle closer to him.

Dipping one of the cloths in the water, he wiped the dirt of the battle from her arms, checking for wounds and finding only the occasional light scratch. He gave her a look asking for permission as his hands fingered the hem of her under shirt. She nodded silently and he peeled off the black tank, instantly gasping as he saw the angry red slash across her waist.

"Emma…" he muttered, his brow furrowed as he surveyed the injury. It was deep enough to reveal the flesh of her stomach, pink and scorched: slightly crooked, it stretched across half of her abdomen, about an inch above her naval. "I…"

"Shhhh," she hushed, as he washed out the cloth and began to clean the wound, "Just a scratch."

"It's more than that love - I should take you to the hospital, let Dr. Whale-"

"No… Not yet. Please. Let me rest first."

Her eyes were rolling back a little. The pain of the injury was increasing and her mouth pinched.

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

"No love. Not a scratch. I guess my luck has changed."

Emma smiled. She wrapped her fingers around his pendants that still hung around her neck and smiled. "Not luck pirate."

"No?" he asked, arching his brow as he twisted out bloodstained cloth into the bowl of water.

Chuckling to herself, she began to ease off her boots, using one toe to force the other heel loose. "Magic," she replied cryptically.

"I think you are delirious Swan," he whispered as he helped her pull off the last boot.

"So you think it's a coincidence that I gave you my necklace and suddenly Mr 'throw himself in front of every blast' is miraculously uninjured?" She tried to laugh but the pull on her stomach turned the laughter into more of a pant and she started to cough.

Seconds later, he was thrusting a cup to her mouth, "Drink," he commanded.

Eagerly she gulped back the cold liquid, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as he set it down.

"Now what's this about the necklace?"

She glanced up at the circle of silver, dangling from his neck as he leaned over her. Reaching up she grasped it in her hands, tugging it loose and tightening her fist around it. "It's charmed. Regina showed me how. A perk of being the saviour." Smiling, she opened her hand and his mouth dropped open as the metal began to glow - an iridescent silver and purple shade that lit up her hand, before quickly fading.

"And you gave it to me…" he marvelled, looking from the necklace to her and back again, before his expression hardened. "Emma, that was reckless. You were safe- why-"

"Because," she began, running a finger down the side of his cheek, "I needed to know_ you_ would be okay."

She held his gaze, her green eyes penetrating his blue, trying to make him see-

Dropping his forehead to hers, he nuzzled her nose for a second, dropping a kiss on its tip. "I don't matter Emma. You do."

Wincing, she pushed herself further up the wall until her mouth was parallel with his ear, "I knew you would look after me. You promised." She placed her hand over his that was resting on her wound, "And you do matter."

Lightly scoffing, he looked down. He always seemed to do that when he was embarrassed. Killian seemed to hate compliments. For every good deed he had done over the past months, he had brushed each one aside and refused even the smallest thanks. He still saw himself as unworthy. A pirate. And all that entailed.

"Look at me," she demanded, tightening her fingers. "Stop being so god damn humble Killian!"

He did look up. And she saw pain. She saw fear. She saw … Love.

"I am nothing without you love. I would happily give my life a thousand times so that you could live. You showed me that I could be more than… I was. That I could try again to change. So I only matter if you are here."

"Well I'm going nowhere."

"No you are not," he retorted, leaning in to steal a quick kiss, "I am not letting you out of my sight again."

"Trying to tell me what to do sailor?"

His face broke into a smile, "As it I would ever attempt that."

"No I think you know better than that." She began to pull his necklace from around her neck, "Here, you gave me mine back, here is yours-"

"No, keep it," he replied softly.

"But-"

"I'm no longer a pirate love. That part of me, well, he's still here - always will be - but I'm more than that now. You keep it. To remind me of what I was until I met you."

"Killian," she blushed, the pain and aches fading away as she felt his love wrap around her like a blanket.

"Do you know how wonderful you are?" he whispered.

Instead of replying, she just stared into his beautiful blue eyes. The way he looked at her took her breath away. No one had ever looked at Emma that way before. Like she was his sun and moon and everything in between. It was intoxicating and overwhelming all at once.

He smiled. "Well," he began, brushing back her hair as he spoke, "I will just have to show you."

She let out a deep breath and curled her fingers around her neck, "Just one thing love?"

"Mmm?" she murmured.

"Don't ever put my safety before your own again."

"Okay," she whispered, sealing her promise with a kiss.

But what he didn't see was her left hand, hidden by her side, two fingers crossed…


	23. Not the common princess

**From this prompt on Tumblr: **

_**Anonymous asked you:**_

_**What about smutty prompt "I can assure you, I am not like all the princess's you've bedded before, Killian."**_

_M rated for language, sex and slight dub con._

"I can assure you, I am not like all the princess's you've bedded before, Killian."

"Is that so?"he smirked from behind his cup of rum.

He looked over at the bed, where she lay reclined, the voluminous folds of her dress reaching down to the floor as her chest heaved against its tightly laced bodice.

"And what would you know of that?"he purred, licking his lips slowly, making sure she was watching his every move.

Pushing up on her forearms, as far as the heavy shackles around her wrists would allow, she narrowed her eyes and looked him up and down. "Your reputation precedes you, Captain Jones. I have heard of your dalliances in King Arthur's realms and there was a story of you and a Sultan's daughter that has been going around. Took her virginity and left her sobbing into her father's robes, I heard. Bad form, sir."

She arched her neck back, to be sure he had a good view of her delicate, pale skin as it curved down into the swell of her breasts.

"Well I wouldn't believe everything you hear,"he quipped, "It was actually a Sultan's _twin _daughters. Both at once."He quickly raised his eyebrows and gave her a devious look that made her feel both hot and trapped all at once. "But, yes, I've had my taste of royal blood. It's overrated."

Emma swallowed deeply and pulled her knees a little closer to her stomach.

This was dangerous. _He_ was dangerous. She knew she had to play her cards carefully, bide her time until her rescue.

"Ah, but like I said, _sir, _I'm not like all the other princesses."

She twisted her neck so her hair pooled over her shoulder and she gave him a pointed look. One that said, 'I'm valuable'.

"Hmm,"he mused, refilling his cup from a large, crystal decanter on the table and rising up to saunter over to where she lay.

He held the rum in his hand as he looked down at her. The expression his face held was cool and closed. His eyes did not betray what he was thinking. She strained to garner some indication of his intentions but she saw nothing.

"You should know, love, that your reputation also precedes you. I know you have turned down a proposal from crown princes in at least half of all the realms. I know that your parents are getting worried that their only child and heir will never marry. And that is why you are on a ship, a month's journey from your home, isn't it, lass?"

Indignantly, she stuck her chin in the air and turned her face away from him. She hadn't counted on his knowledge of _her_. Blue eyes ran over her body and left a cold trail in their wake. She pressed her hips further into the bed.

"Aye, you've been shipped off to find a husband. How long did they give you? Six months? A year?"He was almost sneering over her. She could smell the rum on his breath and it made her stomach turn.

"What is it to you, pirate? You have me here in your quarters. I know what you do with your _conquests. _Just do what you want and leave me be. My ransom will be here soon enough."

"Tut, tut, love? What kind of man do you take me for?"

Jaw firm set, she snapped back her head and stared at him, body tense.

"Ah,"he nodded, "I see. Well, fear not love, I've never taken a woman who didn't _want_ to be taken."

Emma didn't flinch.

"You don't believe me, do you? Hmmm."A smile curved his lips as he tilted his head and started to use his hook to draw the hem of her skirt over her ankles and towards her knees. Her breath started at the touch of the cool metal on her warm skin. A blush rose over her chest and her lips parted slightly.

The hook had just touched the sensitive skin of her inner thigh - its point leaving a pinkish scratch - when he pulled back. His hooded eyes sparkled with amusement.

Leaning down, he paused a few inches from her face. "Fear not, love, you are safe from my passions for now. I had me quite the time with a trio of whores last night."

And he winked. She felt sick. He was so close she could almost smell the sex on him. Musky and thick, it clung around him like a cloak. With his rakish hair and thick layer of stubble on his reddened cheeks, he looked positively sinful.

"Urgh,"she groaned, flopping back onto the bed.

He laughed as he walked away, his steps leisurely and heavy. When she heard the key turn in the lock she let out a relieved sigh.

She'd survived the first night.

* * *

Her analysis of his character had not entirely been truthful.

She had heard of his trysts, yes, but more so she had heard of his prowess.

Emma had taken to slipping out of the castle as often as possible. The incessant worrying of her mother and lectures from her father became too much fairly often.

_You're getting older, Emma._

_You must marry._

_We need an heir._

God she hated the expectations that were placed on her from a cruel consequence of birth.

She wanted to roam, explore, travel.

Indeed this was why she had so eagerly agreed to a royal tour, ostensibly to improve relations with the other kingdoms, but with the explicit understanding that she would return with her chosen husband.

On these excursions from the castle she had taken to spending time in the seedier taverns in town. Where she could hide under a cloak, drink ale and play dice with the less reputable characters that passed through the realm.

It was here she first heard of him. The fearsome Captain Killian 'Hook'Jones.

The peasant girls liked to gossip.

They talked of how handsome he was. Those _come fuck me_ eyes and his smile that made your underwear wet in an instant.

A few would whisper about the times he had frequented their rooms. They said he was so big you felt him inside you for days afterwards (quite something coming from a prostitute, Emma had mused over her ale). And not only was he big, they said but he knew exactly how to use his size. Could make you come in few thrusts.

She'd listened intently as one girl described how he'd pushed her over the bar one night, when only a few men were left, and fucked her so hard she'd cried the place down. All the while drinking his rum. Then he'd tossed her a side with a couple of coins and left her breathless as he left the tavern.

_Animal, _she had thought at the time.

What man treats a woman so?

Yet, deep inside, she felt a yearning. To know what it felt like to be used that way. To be taken by a man who knew how.

Not a tryst in a barn with a shepherd or a hurried moment with one of the soldiers who accompanied her on her travels (when she couldn't slip away).

A real man.

* * *

The small bed in his chambers was soft. The shackles had been removed from her hands and she devoured the meal of meat stew that had been left beside her. She was hungry and cold. The food warmed her stomach and settled her mind.

She knew why she was here.

It was late when he came to the cabin. The sky outside was black and lit with a blanket of stars. She shivered as he approached.

He slipped off his coat. She heard it sink to the floor with a soft thud.

Slowly, she turned to look at him.

He was half in shadow. Dressed all in black he was barely visible as he moved towards her.

'Captain."

"Princess."

As he got closer, his outline became clearer. The strong line of his shoulders. The lean, muscular shape of his legs. All encased in leather and linen. He was like a predator, crawling towards her, eyeing up his prey.

"Hmmm," he muttered, fingering the slightly soiled material of her dress: stained from a week of being worn. "Stand up."

Heart racing, she slipped to her feet and turned around.

Roughly he began to tug at the stays of her corset. Each one he loosened allowed her to breathe more easily and the blood began to flow quickly to her chest and legs and she felt relief flood over her.

He untied her skirt and then finally pulled the dress down over her arms and it dropped to the floor, until she was stood in just the simple, linen chemise that slipped off her shoulders and hung down to her knees.

"That's better," he whispered, drawing a finger over her shoulders.

Stiffening, she drew her arms around her chest and slowly turned to face him.

"Why am I here?" she asked, trying to sound confident.

"Why do you think?" he replied with amusement.

"You said you never took a woman who didn't want to be taken."

"I don't," he murmured, sinking his lips to the base of her neck, softly kissing her collar bone and along her shoulder. Slowly. Gently.

Frozen, she locked her knees.

His lips were teasing. Shooting bright little sparks throughout her body and clouding her mind. The fingers of his good hand began to slip under the shoulder of her chemise, easing it lower so he could move his kiss down her upper arm and tugging the material over her breasts with his hook.

"You are sumptuous, love," he whispered as his scruff began to tickle her chest.

She tried to ignore the rising feelings. She wanted to show him she was not affected by his lips, or his hands or his words.

"How long has it been since you've had a man?" he asked, his mouth now on her neck and his hand starting to softly cup her breasts, his thumb running over each nipple as it hardened involuntarily.

She tried to stifle a whimper.

"Weeks? Months?"

His tongue traced a trail along her jaw until he was face to face with her. Hovering over her mouth, his hot breath consuming the air around her.

"Have you ever had a _real _man, Princess?"

He dipped his hips closer to her and she could feel the bulge of his arousal.

Not answering, she focused on the shelf of books above his desk. Then tried to read the titles. Tried to take her mind off what he was doing with his hands and his mouth.

_Robinson Crusoe. Trewitt's Star Maps. Fishers Almanac-_

Somehow he was on his knees, raising the hem of her chemise, pushing her back towards the bed. She was trembling. Not from fear. But from anticipation.

He balled up the material in his hand as her hips met the edge of the bed. Instinctively, her hands went back to support herself as he used his hook to motion her legs wider apart.

Her breath shook and she looked down at him. He glanced upwards and began to run his hook between her folds, lazily almost, not even looking at what he was doing. But she could feel her wetness coating the cool metal as he watched her face. It was almost as if he was studying her, looking for a reaction. Keeping his gaze, she held herself in check. Refusing to give him one.

A smile spread as he brought the implement to his mouth and slowly licked it clean, letting out a slow guttural growl as he did. "You taste positively sinful."

Her eyelids dropped and she felt her heart begin to thud under the thin material.

Still, neither looked away.

He rose his brows. He seemed amused by her resistance.

With a soft push, she fell back onto the bed, her hips hanging over as she stared at the ceiling.

_Scream Emma. Tell him to stop. Cry bloody hell and he'll leave you…_

The rational voice in her head was shouting instructions at her as she waited for his next move.

But curiosity burned inside. Those stories from the wenches in the tavern rang in her head and she felt her core tighten as she imagined being taken by him like one of those women. Just for one night.

He was back. A flask in his hand. He took a sip and sank from her view.

Then his lips were on her, warm and soft, followed by the wash of coolness as the liquor is his mouth brushed over her and he began to suck gently on her sensitive nub, her legs flinched around his face as he lapped and swirled his tongue and the tension in her stomach began to rise.

Pausing, he took another drink, before diving back between her legs. She heard the flask fall to the floor and suddenly her body was invaded cool fingers sinking easily inside, twisting and scissoring as his tongue pressed harder against her.

She heard him grunt. His hooked arm came up to her waist and pressed on her hips.

"Fuck you are divine, Emma."

He had pulled back and his words breathed cool little breaths on her wetness and she felt her hips rock on the edge of the bed. Her legs slipped over his shoulders and before she knew it she was pulling him back to her.

She wanted it. Needed it.

"Mmmm,"she moaned, running her hands over her own body, massaging her breasts as she gave in and let him do what he wished.

It was better than with any lover she had ever had. He was so confident and self-assured. He knew he was good. Better than good. And he had only touched her with his tongue and his hand.

"Do you want me?"he asked, as he wiped his damp lips on her thigh and kept working inside her with his fingers - arching and curving them expertly.

Her pride told her to say no.

Instead she set her mouth in a firm line and stared ahead.

He chuckled. Returning his mouth to her and flicking and sucking her clit with his tongue until she was clawing at the sheets and biting her lips, trying not to cry out-

"How about now?"he asked, abruptly lifting his head.

"Screw you,"she spat. Though she didn't know if it was through anger or frustration. Perhaps a little of both.

"Fine,"he quipped, giving her core one last firm lick before stepping away and slipping out his fingers.

"But, but…"she stuttered, the loss instant.

"A man knows when he is not wanted love,"he sneered, reaching for his coat.

She stopped. She was going to regret this, she knew it…

"Stop."

Slowly he turned, wicked smile on his lips.

"Yes?"

"You can't leave me like this."

"Can't I?"

Chest heaving, she quietly peeled off her chemise, letting his eyes roam over her nakedness. Then she threaded her fingers through her hair, so her breasts rose gently and she puffed out her chest.

Stepping backwards, she moved to sit back on the bed, spreading her legs slightly, one hand fingering her breasts whilst the other dipped into her core.

"Well, if you aren't going to help me…"she began.

And that was all it took. He was tearing off his vest and shirt, kicking away his boots and tugging down his trousers, naked in the seconds it took to reach the bed once more.

She laughed as he latched onto her mouth and squeezed her ass. His tongue delved deep as he pushed away her fingers and began to fuck her once more with his fingers as she panted into his mouth, quickly becoming overwhelmed with sensation and crooning as she came hard around him.

"Oh god,"she muttered as he lay her back and lined up his length. She tensed her body, waiting.

He seemed to have second thoughts and instead grabbed her arm, tugging her to stand and pressing her against the wooden wall of the cabin beside the bed. Hitching her legs around his waist, he held her up with his arms as he teased her with his tip.

"Do you want me now princess?"he teased, bucking forwards slightly, sliding over her.

"Oh, just fuck me already you bastard."

It was like a red rag to a bull. He pressed inside her in one swift move. She whimpered at the intrusion. It had been a long time and he was, as the tavern girls had said, large and thick…

The urge to rock against him was overwhelming as he settled and she adjusted to his size. The stinging sensation giving way to a pleasant buzz as he started to roll his hips and take her against the wall.

Quick, frantic thrusts, each one met with a muttered curse as his good hand grabbed her neck and held her gaze with his.

"You like this, don't you princess. I'm your first real man, aren't I? The first who's known how to fuck you properly, like you deserve,"he thrust deeper and she cried out. She didn't think she could take much more, for all her earlier bravado. "Gods you're tight. Like a virgin cunt, love. The way you take my cock and swallow it up…You've needed this love. Christ you're shameless. Some bloody princess-"

His words continued, each one sinking her further into oblivion. Each filthy word sparking her basest desires to be dominated and used and wanted.

She watched his pupils widen and his breathing quicken - the sweat on his brow growing with ever second as he started to lose on control.

Hot, sweat, liquid heat, pooling desire, curling tension, teasing friction-

So many feelings ran through her that her climax almost took her by surprise, ambushing her as she sank her mouth to his shoulder and bit hard, electricity flashing as he went rigid - calling out her name before slowly sinking to his knees.

She ran her fingers thought his sweaty, damp hair and trailed them up the bones of his back as they sat collapsed together on the floor.

"I told you you'd want me,"he finally whispered, nipping at her neck.

She tightened her legs around him and brought her lips to his ear, "I never said I didn't."

**Reviews are always appreciated! **


	24. A Dashing Rapscallion

**rap•scal•lion (ræpˈskæl yən) **

_n._

_a rascal; rogue._

* * *

"So I said to him, '_you are a stalker._'"

"Which was amusing, as I did not know what a stalker was," Killian chipped in, leaning his arm on the table and flashing one of his dashing smiles.

Emma turned and gave him an annoyed look, instantly soothed by a small smile that licked at the edges of her lips. "And anyway, I ended up threatening to scream the place down if he didn't leave that instant-"

"Wait, you forgot the part where you called me a dashing rapscallion," he quipped.

"I think you'll find that _you _called yourself that, just after I picked up the steak knife."

"Ah yes," he laughed, "I'd almost forgotten about that. Your mother can be quite feisty at times."

Henry smiled and took a long sip on his straw, the chocolate milkshake in his class rapidly reducing as he nodded his head, "Go on."

"Well, before your mum could do any damage with the knife, I gave her a slip of paper-"

"-With Dad's address on it," Henry finished, a pained look flashing across his face for a few seconds. Emma reached out and grabbed her son's hand, wrapping her fingers around his until he looked up at her and let out a deep breath.

"I'm sorry-" Killian began, sinking his eyes closed at his own stupidity. It had been over three months since Neal had died - a hero, but all the same had left Henry once again without his father.

"It's fine, really. I'm just glad I got to meet him and know him, even for a little while - you know?"

Leaning forward, Emma dropped a small kiss on Henry's hand; he squirmed at the gesture, pulling the kind of face that said 'I'm a teenager now, Mom'. Killian's eyes flashed from mother to son, wondering at their strong bond that had grown in the face of such extreme circumstances. He felt his chest tighten as he thought about the amazing woman sitting beside him.

The bell on Granny's door jingled, and Henry's face lit up: "Mom!" he cried, slipping out from the booth and diving towards the door. The two turned to see Henry wrapping his arms around a resplendent Regina, her face beaming as she held him tight. "Oh I've missed you," she sighed, ruffling his hair as Robin appeared at her side. "Are you ready?"

Henry turned back to the booth, "Is it okay if I go now?"

Emma nodded, "Of course," she replied, reaching over and picking up his backpack.

He returned and took it from her, giving her a quick hug and a whispered, "Bye Mom." Then he flashed a smile at Killian, "Tell me the rest of the story later?"

"Aye lad," he promised, watching as he raced Regina and Robin out of the diner, animatedly asking questions about their trip to Boston.

"And relax," Emma sighed, sinking back into the booth.

"Tired?" he asked, watching her eyelids dip slightly.

"Mmmhmmm."

"Come on, Swan," he said softly, dipping his hand under her arm, "We don't want you falling asleep in the middle of town."

And she didn't protest, instead allowing him to guide her out of the diner, tucking her arm into his as they walked back in the darkening spring evening.

§K&E§

She sank down on the sofa, feet curled underneath her hips. She had woken up a little on the walk back, blaming her heavy workload at the Sheriff's office - the focal point of the rebuilding efforts.

Killian poured a glass of water from a jug in the fridge (or 'ice house' as he still insisted on calling it) before placing it on the table in front of her.

"I should go," he sighed, shifting a little awkwardly from foot to foot.

"You could stay a while," she offered, stretching up a little where she sat, "It's pretty quiet here without Henry."

Giving her a small nod, he slipped off his new leather jacket; still black and distinctive but more subtle - hanging to just below his knees, with simple clean lines, though he still insisted on having his collar stiffly up around his neck. It just made the adjustment to this realm's clothes a little easier.

With his black shirt and jeans, he was almost invisible in the darkness of the room. The sky had quickly turned black since they returned.

Emma turned on the television and the images began to cycle.

"Do you think Henry is managing with everything? I mean Neal, Pan, Zelena… "

"I'd say," he began as he reached for the flask of rum inside his jacket, "He's dealing with things wonderfully, Emma. Truly, he is a credit to you."

"You think?" she asked, tilting her head and giving him a tentative smile.

"He's got some fine lineage there, sweetheart. He has the best of his mother…and his father."

Emma's head dipped at the mention of Neal. Since he had died protecting his father and Belle, Killian had pulled back from his advances. He was trying to be there for Emma - but dancing on the edge of what was appropriate and what she wanted. And she had needed someone to lean on as she mourned the man he knew she still loved in some way, just the same as Henry had needed someone to talk to.

"Thank you for your help with him - the sailing lessons, just being there - it helped."

"I enjoyed it. He's a good lad, like I said a credit to you. And whatever I can do to help Neal's son-"

At the mention of Neal's name, Emma started and her eyes widened. "I'm sorry-"

"Stop." She put her hand on his arm. "Stop apologizing. It wasn't your fault."

His shoulders sagged a little and his eyes slipped closed. Slowly he took a sip from the flask.

"I know you've kept your distance from me, since - since it happened." She took the flask and ran her thumb around its neck. "And I understand. And thank you."

Taking a sip, she shuffled a little closer.

"I didn't want you to think I was…insensitive. I only want what is best for you."

Emma licked her lips. "I know," she whispered into the bottle, before looking up at him through her dark lashes. "I've had a lot of time to think. Even while everything was still going crazy, I thought about things. About you. About…_Us_."

"I, too, have thought of the same," he admitted.

Indeed he had: every day. Just as he had done in that year they had been separated. But somehow the past few months had been harder - she was so near but he had been somewhat scared; unsure how to move beyond friendship after the events that Zelena had instigated in Storybrooke.

She was studying the glass and leather flask, running her fingers over the stitching and trying to make out the faded design that was punched into the front.

"And what do you want?" she asked, bold faced, looking him directly in the eye, holding out the flask to him as his heart started to beat a little faster.

His voice was low and hoarse, "You know what I want Emma. My feelings haven't changed."

He took the flask and she reached out, brushing her fingers over the back of his hand.

"I thought of you every day we were parted."

He had never told her that, never referenced their conversation before the curse had taken hold, though he knew she remembered everything. There had never seemed the right time, though it had been on the tip of his tongue on more than one occasion.

"Good," she whispered. He felt his whole being lifted at her affirmation of his affections: his chest swelling, his breath quickening.

Yes, he'd felt glimpses here and there - felt the tug between them where he had wanted to hold her and kiss her and he'd even been half sure that she wouldn't object.

But now he knew for sure.

He felt her hand begin to slip around his waist and her head nestle on his chest. Letting the flask slip from his hand, he looped his good arm around her and held him close. Sweet satisfaction spread through his veins as he felt her heart beating as she lay against him.

As naturally as if they had been lovers forever, she settled closer before reaching up and pressing her lips against his neck. He sighed happily, rubbing his chin against her forehead as she balled her other fist in the material of his shirt.

Neither spoke for some time. Instead they listened to the low groan of the television as it hummed away in the background. He watched her as her chest rose and fall, her blonde hair strewn over his chest as she seemed utterly content - happy to be.

"I missed you," he murmured into her hair, nuzzling closer as he kissed her softly.

Arching back, she looked up into his eyes, "Good," she repeated, stretching up and giving him a cheeky smile.

"You minx," he cooed, leaning closer to her face until their noses were almost touching.

She bit her lip, her eyes sparkling as she placed both her palms flat on his chest. "You scoundrel," she teased.

"Princess," he laughed, reaching down for a brief kiss.

"You dashing rapscallion," she countered, tugging a hand up into this hair and looking at him with the most beautiful, happy expression.

"I knew you liked that," he whispered into her ear, nipping at her neck as she wrestled herself higher so their faces were now parallel.

"Yeah, seems I have a thing for bad boys," she winked, resting her forehead against his.

"Oh sweetheart, don't you know, I'm all man?" he growled, sinking his lips finally onto hers, pressing her body tight against him as they took the very air out of each other's lungs in a searching, hoping, longing kiss - only ending when he pulled back to breathe.

Letting out a contented sigh, she circled pendants around his neck with her fingers, "Never leave me?"

It was half question, half statement. Her voice faltered a little, that vulnerable side - the one that she rarely let out - revealing itself.

"Never," he promised, before crushing his lips once more against hers.

_**Review? :D**_


	25. When he's near

_**For the Shushettes.**_

_**M rated.**_

The moment she walks into the room, she feels his presence.

It's like an invisible wall of thick tension, immediately binding to her body and sinking through every pore of her skin. She drinks it in: letting her head softy roll from side to side as shivers permeate her flesh, her eyes sinking closed and her mind drowning in the feeling - just for a moment.

She feels warm - not that she was cold to begin with. This warmth is different from regular heat. It's a cloak that wraps around her almost instantly, enveloping her in deliciously suffocating, all encompassing, desperate need. Instantly it is comforting and yet inciting. She wants more. Delicate shivers trickle down her spine, like water down a pane of glass: rolling and twisting as they travel in meandering paths and spread out across her skin.

Deep inside, she feels the sparking of desire seeping and spreading out, as silent as the black of night, engulfing her in seconds.

Despite all the other people scattered around the room she can't hide how she is instantly drawn to him. Her body begins to throb. Every breath she takes, every time her heart pounds against her chest–her skin burns harder, the red rises in her cheeks and she begins to sway gently to the rhythm it creates.

The smile is automatic. She can't stop it. It dances at the corners of her lips and a breath catches in her throat as he stops and looks at her.

Bright blue eyes: so beautiful, so clear. They pierce her heart swiftly and the beat is interrupted for a second until he matches her smile and closes the distance between them. His stride is firm and confident, his hand already reaching for her cheek as they meet.

"Swan," he whispers to her. The smile deepens, dimpling her cheeks while his thumb brushes across her skin and the sparks of desire begin to intensify, trailing the path of his fingers as she breathes deeper.

Heavy, drowning gasps of air are needed. He radiates heat and sea and something she can't quite name that gets under her skin. The hormones and chemicals dancing in her veins seem to multiply ten fold when he is near. They are taking over. Her senses are being assaulted. Everything is intensified yet, at the same time, everything is hazy.

She slips a hand onto his chest and reaches up to kiss him. Just a chaste kiss, with such an audience, but she presses her lips hard against him and fists his shirt between her fingers as she does so. She needs him to know. He has to know how he affects her.

She wonders if he feels the same…

His arms slide around her back and she arches into his touch. Craving him has turned into a natural state for her. Be they apart or together, he is always living in the back of her mind.

But when he's near…

With a firm arm, he pulls her to his side. His strong grip and firm chest push against her so satisfyingly, she can't help but let out a small sigh. It doesn't escape his notice and he digs his fingers into her waist and his index fingers rubs the thin material of her shirt and she just wishes they were alone.

Walking through the crowd is torture. So many strained smiles and polite conversations. Inside she wants to scream. He keeps holding her close. Every so often, he nuzzles into her ear and whispers sweet words.

_So beautiful._

_How I've missed you._

_Do you know how I've missed you?_

Somehow she manages to answer every question the people ask her and remain polite. Her mind is vacant though and she answers in brief, perfunctory responses.

The feelings inside her are beginning to take over.

He's too damn close. And warm. And _him_.

When they have a second alone, she leans into his embrace and he wraps his hooked arm around her and they look over the room.

"Let's escape for while," he mutters in her ear, his tongue flicks over her neck for a second and a throb of heat overwhelms her.

She should say no.

She _knows _she should say no.

But instead she lets him pull her away with him.

* * *

The sound of the party dims.

The blood rushes to her ears and crashes like waves against the shore of her sanity as he gently holds her hand and moves through the darkened hallway in silence.

Until he finds a small door and they slip inside.

His mouth is on hers instantly, quickly moving across her bared skin. It almost hurts when his lips touch. The rolling tension inside her rises to the surface with every kiss and it burns.

He's not close enough.

Her hands claw at his shirt and neck; her leg rises to his hip and hooks around him. He's kissing her mouth now. Wildly. And she kisses back with the desperation a few days separation and reflection provide.

"I'm sorry," she moans into the blackness.

He's now kissing down her neck and his hand is pushing up her skirt.

"Shhhhh," he whispers.

She combs her fingers through his hair. Languidly, her head slips back and the heat starts to become suffocating. Is it the small space, or is it him?

She doesn't care, because it feels _good_.

"But I am," she promises. The guilt of leaving things unsettled rises in her stomach and sets like a hard stone, tensing her muscles.

When he looks at her, he is licking his lips then rolling the bottom one between his teeth. His gaze is intense but his eyes are hazed with lust.

"I said, shhhh," he whispered. Then he is falling to his knees and her underwear is slipping down her legs, aided by a glinting, silver hook.

Between her fingers, his hair is thick and soft. She loves how it feels against her skin. She loves it when he lies on her stomach and it tickles her softly. She loves the way it sticks up in such a sexy way when she has run her fingers through it.

Hot breath between her legs blanks any thoughts other than how much she wants him. His beard is rubbing against her thighs as he teases her.

Waves of burning heat are intensifying and she feels almost drunk from him.

"Hm," she whimpers at the feel of his tongue.

She presses her fingers harder. He understands.

The assault of his mouth and his hand has her head spinning: the room pivots around her and she sinks her hips against the wall for leverage as her fingers loosen slightly. When he pushes fingers inside her she is panting: little short breaths mixed with 'oohs' and 'uhs'. Every one drives him a little harder. He pushes and presses and teases her so perfectly: through the blackness she is seeing stars.

Knees weakening, she gives in. Her responses louden but she doesn't care. She wants him to know what he does to her and be damned with anyone else.

The crashing waves hit and she is lost for a moment. Swimming in the air - no gravity - bright lights flickering…

When she comes to, she is wrapped in his arms again.

She feels safe.

And loved.

"I love you. I'm sorry," she murmurs into his ear.

Leaning in for a kiss; she can taste herself and it's strangely arousing. "Stop apologising my love," he replies.

So she does.

Because she cannot deny him anything. He is all she wants and needs.

_Especially when he's near._

**Review? :D**


	26. The World

"I've tried everything -I've changed him, fed him, burped him-"

The wails of baby Liam filled the air - shrill and high pitched they rang in Emma's ears as Killian took the small child from her arms.

"Perhaps he just wants his daddy, love."

Cooing, he began to bounce Liam in his arms, talking to him in a silly, sing song voice, his face smiling as he seemed to be bursting with pride.

Emma sank to sit on the couch. She watched as Killian walked around the living room, rocking Liam in his arms as the baby continued to cry incessantly.

She marvelled at the new father - he was so calm and patient. The only emotion on his face was love as he looked at his son with a face full of marvel.

Seeing his efforts were making no progress, he changed tack and began to sing softly.

Our ship she lies in harbour,

Just ready to set sail,

May heaven be your guardian, love,

Till I return from sea!'

"What is that?" she asked, rising and walking over to the window where he stood.

"It's a shanty - a sailors song."

"I've never heard you sing before," she whispered, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Never felt the need, love," he replied, dropping a soft kiss on their sons head and continuing his song.

The baby's stirrings began to soften. She watched over Killian's shoulder as his mouth formed a soft 'O' and his face twisted into a yawn. His tiny eyelids began to flutter over his blue eyes - those just like his father's. Finally he stilled, his chest rising in a small soft rhythm.

"Wow," Emma whispered as she dropped her arms and moved around to face Killian. She looked down at her sleeping son - his tuft of dark hair a stark contrast to his pale, creamy skin. She reached out and stroked his soft skin, kissing him softly on the cheek before. "Thank you."

"No, my love, thank you," Killian replied, wrapping one arm arm around her and pulling her under his arm.

"Why are you thanking me?" she asked as she nestled in his arms, gazing adoringly at the tiny baby.

"For giving me the world."

**Review? :D**


	27. Irresistable

**_M Rated._**

She was seething.

No, she was _writhing_ with anger.

Stupid dumbass pirate.

Fist balled in his shirt, she flung him against the wall of the storage room and damn him he laughed.

"What the fuck was that?" she spat, resting her other arm to the side of his shoulder as her fingers tightened against his chest.

Then he licked his lips. Slowly. Flicking up his eyes to meet hers.

Fuck it was doing things to her. She clenched her muscles, imagining his tongue somewhere else-

"He was trying to touch you."

"Goddamn it Killian, you fucking punched him. In the middle of The Rabbit Hole!"

With a tilt of his head, his brow furrowed, "Aye and he would have got a lot worse if it wasn't for that damn dwarf."

His voice was full and thick, laced with his silky accent that had her stomach doing somersaults.

"You realise I have to arrest you now?"

Then he gave her that cocky grin of his, lifting up his wrists between them. "Go on, it was worth it. I know you have a thing for tying me up."

A brief image of the pirate tied to her bed with silk scarves flashed through her mind. It had been a week ago but the memory was still fresh and heat rose between her thighs.

"I can tell you are thinking about it," he teased, leaning a little closer. And hell he smelled so fucking good.

"You can't keep doing that," she snapped her eyes fluttering closed, her hand on the wall slipping closer to his shoulder. "I'm not some damsel in distress."

His fingers were slipping along the dipped neckline of her sweater, "It is my duty to protect _my ladies_ honour."

"Huh," she scoffed. Emma hated herself in that moment. For all his swagger and wit he could be so damn charming when he wanted to. And ridiculously hot and sexy of course. "I am not _your lady,_" she growled, leaning a little closer. Her green eyes dimmed with annoyance. That is until he looked her dead on. Oh those baby blues framed with dark lashes. They got her. Every. Single. Goddamn. Time.

"Come here love-"

She whimpered a little in wear protest as he reached her her lips. He rubbed his mouth against hers, nipping at her lip, trying to tease it open.

"I need to take you to the station…"

But his hand was already pushing down her jeans and her underwear. And she was kicking off her shoes. His cool hook felt delicious against the bare skin of her ass; she jumped a little, pressing her chest closer to his.

He was _smiling_, damn him.

Somehow his fingers were tracing her thighs and her hands were reaching under his shirt and his skin was hot and the hair on his chest felt _so fucking good _-

She tumbled back towards the old, rickety desk on the other side of the room - almost tripping over cases of beer and racks of wine.

Kissing him was addictive, and as pissed as she was she needed a fix now. Emma really wished she knew how to play a little hard to get with this man. The way her alternated between hard and soft and quick and slow and little teasing bites mixed with silky explorations with his tongue was just - urgh!

With a small hop, she was sitting on the edge of the desk, swinging her legs, half naked and feeling a little delirious.

"Mmm, just the way I like you," he mumbled as she lay back, pulling him on top of her.

"Shut up," she snapped. Reminding herself she was still pissed at him.

Clamped between her thighs, his hips bucked against her and she squirmed as he hit her just where she needed it.

Next his hand was up her sweater and under her bra. Calloused, roughened fingers danced over her soft nipples whilst she sunk her teeth into his neck. He was heavy and the desk was hard beneath her ass. But she liked the burn and the pain. It felt raw and real somehow.

With her heels she managed to push down his pants below his ass, until his cock was free. Hot and hard and rolling against he stomach, she smiled in spite of herself.

Tilting her hips, she moistened his tip with her own arousal, sighing as he slipped inside and began to rock into her. No matter how many times they fucked (or had sex or made love - depending on the occasion) it always felt so fucking good she wanted to scream and tell the whole damn world.

"Harder," she whispered.

"As you wish," he replied. Quicker he moved, pushing her into the desk, its edge digging harshly into her ass.

There was something about their state of being semi dressed, the dark room, the hard desk and the way his leather pants rubbed against her thighs that had her orgasm sparking within minutes.

She rocked her hips, arching until he was so deep she was cursing his name, biting her lips, scratching his neck-

"Oh Emma, christ you feel good."

"Fuck," was all she could manage as his cock drove into her and she almost began to forget how they had gotten into this situation.

"You're so fucking wet," he drawled into her ear.

(When he talked to her during sex she certainly couldn't handle it. And he knew it, damn him).

Her hips were bucking wildly and he was struggling to keep hold of her body. Finally, he pulled her upright so she has less room to move. Bending his knees a little, he pressed up into her hard and fast and desperate, at the same time as kissing her roughly.

She came with a loud groan, followed with his own growl of satisfaction which ended with his the two falling back onto the desk.

"Mmmm," she mumbled.

"Mmm indeed," he echoed.

§§§§

Finally dressed, she smoothed her hair and winced at her bruised ass. Killian was lying nonchalantly against the door. That damn smirk still on his face.

Striding over, she gave him a quick smile before slipping on the cold, heavy handcuffs she kept hooked to her jeans.

"What the hell?" he cried, an indignant look on his face.

"I told you I was going to arrest you."

"I thought you were bloody joking love -"

"I never joke," the smiled, tugging on the chain as she pulled him from the room.

Outside she stopped and turned, "But if you are a good boy, I might let you use them on me later."

The dirty, naughtily little smile that lit up his face made her want to laugh.

"Aye Sheriff," he groaned and let her lead the way.

**Review? :D**


	28. Truth

"Is this really necessary?"

David's face was creased with concern as Regina's hands worked over Emma's unconscious body.

"Yes," she snapped, "The witch cast a concealment spell and I have to counteract it if we are going to find out where she is."

Soft moans rose from Emma's throat until her eyes opened and she started to push herself up on her forearms.

"Where am I?" she yawned, rubbing the burgeoning bruise on her forehead.

"You're safe," promised David, circling her hand with his, "We found you at the library and brought you to Regina."

"Zelena," she sighed, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Yes," hissed Regina, "Zelena."

"Where is she?" David asked, squeezing her hand.

Her head rolled back as the potions and magic gave her this almost drunk feeling., She started to giggle.

"Gone," she whispered.

"Gone?"

Regina's voice was thick with sarcasm as she rolled her eyes and pressed her face closer to the other woman's.

"I think we need something a little more specific than that, saviour."

Emma's eyes snapped open as she sucked in a deep breath, "Where is he?"

"He? Who?" her father asked, "Oh, Henry. He's fine. He's with Snow-"

"No," she groaned. The pain in her head was intensifying. "Him. He."

Impatiently, Regina paced across the room. "What the hell is she talking about?"

"I need him," Emma groaned in the background.

David raised his brows at Regina, "What the hell have you done?"

She waved her hand at him, "It's just her body reacting to the magic."

"Hook!" Emma shouted. The two turned to look at her.

"Did he hurt you?" David cried, his brow creasing as he looked at his daughter.

"No, silly," she laughed, reaching forward to tweak his nose. "He'd never do that."

Pushing David aside, Regina leaned over Emma, "Enough. Where is Zelena?"

"I don't know," Emma shrugged.

"Useless," Regina tutted as she walked away.

"Where is he?" Emma shouted, quite loudly this time.

"What the hell is this obsession with the pirate all of a sudden?" Regina seethed, glowing balls of fire growing and shrinking between her hands.

"I'm not obsessed, I'm just in love…" she sighed, leaning back on the chair with a small smile on her face.

"Is that-" David began.

"No," Regina clucked, rolling her eyes, "That's not her reacting to the magic. That's the truth."

And the two looked at the blonde as she smiled happily up at the ceiling and babbled…

"Kill-I-an and Emma. Emma and Killian. Captain Hoooookkkkkk."

"Ah crap," swore David shaking his head. "Damn pirate."


	29. Distractions

_**caishakalianah replied to your post "Pick a prompt"**_

_**hmm..buttons+glass**_

"Tsk!" he hissed, as she carefully pulled the small shards of glass from his arm.

"Sit still!" she ordered. Immediately he froze, but she heard him continue to growl with every snip of the tweezers. "Wimp," she muttered.

"I'd like to see you do better," he growled under his breath. Stopping, she cocked an eyebrow at the wounded pirate.

"I'm not the dumbass who walked into a glass door."

"Well I wouldn't be walking into bloody doors if you dressed yourself appropriately."

Her jaw dropped and she pulled back from the wound, holding the tweezers up as she eyed him incredulously, "You are trying to blame me for your own stupidity?" she cried.

"Well you walk in bloody half dressed in that underwear-"

"It's a dress," she snapped.

"I've seen more fabric on a pillowcase love," he narrowed his eyes and she had a joint urge to both kiss him and slap him.

"You're one to talk," she retorted as she resumed her task.

"How so love?"

Slipping her tongue between her lips in concentration, she eased out a minuscule shard. "Buttons. Those things on your shirt. Know what they are for?"

He chuckled lightly, before cursing as she released the last trace of glass. "I've nothing to hide love."

Clucking her tongue, she dotted a piece of gauze with disinfectant before slamming it against his injury.

"Bloody hell!" he spat, "That hurt more than the glass!"

"Maybe you'll be more careful next time," she smiled sweetly as she wiped his skin before attaching a clean bandage.

"Well you're very distracting Emma Swan.."

With a bang, she shut the first aid box before swivelling to face him. She hitched up her (very short) skirt and straddled his legs. Her fingers slipped under his barely closed shirt and splayed across his chest..

"And so are you Killian Jones," she quipped


	30. Knots

It had been perhaps a week since it happened - and everything changed - when he slipped his hand in his pocket. Cold fingers wrapped around a piece of thin rope; frayed, coarse and worn.

Sitting under the shade of a tree, he began to thread the cord between his fingers. The color was a goldish-yellow; it reminded him of her hair. His chest squeezed a little around his heart as he let her into his mind and he closed his eyes as he indulged in the memory.  
There he saw her. The sun was shining and her hair hung in golden waves around her shoulders. She was smiling - a carefree, wonderful smile. She was happy.

Absentmindedly he began to tease the string between his fingers into a small figure of eight knot as he thought of her.

A voice called his name - they were moving on to make camp for the night. He deposited his handiwork back in his pocket and rejoined the others.

Throughout the day his hand would find its way back to the knotted rope and he would think again of her.

§§§

Amidst the castle ruins, he had found a coil of rope - thin, like the kind used to string up rigging.

Later, he lay out on a patch of overgrown grass in the grounds, staring up at the stars. He began to wonder where she was now. Was she looking at the sky? Gazing at some distant stars and thinking of them - of him?

His chest dropped when he remembered she didn't know him. Not anymore. Automatically his hand sought out the coil he had placed in his knapsack, and deftly he began to weave.

§§§

Within three months, the castle was almost habitable. Every room was filled - each family given their own quarters while work on new homes began.

Each day was long. Helping coordinate the rebuilding had kept his mind occupied. From first light until the fall of dusk, he toiled and sweated: directing the assorted former citizens of Storybrooke, his finely honed leadership skills a valuable asset in this new life.

When night would fall, he had taken to camping out in the old stables. Despite the Charming's protestations, he insisted he needed nothing more. He liked the quiet. He could think.

In the old tack room, he had laid down his sleeping roll and the few possessions he required were stacked neatly on the rough, wooden shelves that hung on the bare stone walls.

The silence would wrap around him as a barrier against the world, until he almost felt separate from his body - so unearthly was the feeling and absence of sound.

There, alone, he could almost imagine she were with him. He remembered her voice - calling his name, talking in hushed tones… Every night he made his mind play little memories. He had no other picture or likeness, just those little snippets he held inside. Deep down, he was scared that he may forget her and break his promise. So the nightly ritual continued.

As he dreamed and thought, his fingers continued to tease and twist the rope; each knot a memory. A thought. A promise.

§§§

The dwarves began to brew something they called 'potato wine'. It was vile. Bitter. Certainly no rum. But he let himself indulge on occasion, when the lingering pain of lost chances became particularly bad.

The pungent alcohol served only to magnify each thought of her. Her smell. Her eyes. They way she looked at him when she thought he didn't know.

These were some of the few times he let himself remember the kiss.

Soft lips and warm breath. The way she pressed her face against him. How close she had been: how she had lingered there a moment or two more than he expected. The buzzing in this head and the flush that descended as realization crashed around him.

That he loved her.

They knew to leave him when he slunk away to a corner of the barn that served as a tavern. Leaning against the wall, his hand would slip into his pocket and slowly knot the piece of rope he always carried, his fingers running over the curves and loops as he remembered the way her cheek arched and her rounded eyes sparkled.

And even when his blood had it's fill of alcohol and sleep came, his dreams were of her.

§§§

A quick escape.

Dashing from the realm on a black steed. No time to say goodbye or prepare.

Just one thought on his mind.

Emma.

Stopping to let his mount ease its thirst in a small brook, he checked his pocket.

One small piece of knotted rope - the first he had made - remained. He tightened his fist around it.

Emma.

§§§

Flying monkeys.  
Evil witches.  
Curses.

All worth it to see her again.  
She was just as he remembered.

§§§

The air was cold despite the crackling fire that consumed the clock tower. She shivered beside him.

He slipped off his coat and draped the heavy garment over her shoulders. She looked to her left and smiled, easing her arms into it and hugging it tight around her chest.

"She's gone," she whispered.

"So it seems," he replied.

They watched the flames until the they died down into a gentle crackling and only the glow of orange embers remained. The others had long gone, it seemed, and the empty street was quiet and still.

"What's this?" she asked, holding something up. It was the piece of rope.

"A momento," he answered, stepping a little closer until she was cloaked in his shadow.

"Of what?" She turned the knotted rope between her fingers, rubbing her thumb over it gently.

"Of you," he replied simply. She turned up her head and gave him a confused smile.

"Not a day went by when I didn't think of you. Tying these knots helped me remember somehow. I was scared I would forget…"

Head dipped, he felt the weight of many months of uncertainty and hardship lift like a cloud as the sun breaks through.

And Emma was the sun.

Small fingers curved around his neck and cupped the back of his head. He leaned into her palm, sighing gently.

"Thank you," she whispered, dropping her forehead against his.

"No love, it's you I must thank. You have given me hope again. Something I thought was lost to me."

As he spoke, he tilted his head until their eyes met. Her hair hung in wild waves, his coat swamped her frame - she looked up at him with a whimsical smile.

"You're a good man Killian," she whispered. His cheeks reddened slightly - still unused to kind words and compliments. "You kept your promise."

Rising on her toes, she pulled him onto a kiss. All at once soft and tender yet passionate and longing. Over a year had passed since their lips had last met, but at the same time it was so familiar and comfortable - like coming home.

"How could I not?' he replied, nuzzling into her cheek and hugging her tight.


	31. What's Mine is Yours

**Prompt: Emma wearing /just/ Hook's coat.**

**M rated. PWP.**

Tired, he kicked of his boots as soon as he walked in the door.

It'd been a long day. The ocean had whipped up into a squall when he'd taken the Jolly out that afternoon and the effort of bringing her safely back to shore had left his muscles aching and burning.

Slowly, he climbed the stairs.

"Emma?" he called. Perhaps she was still working. That woman worked far too bloody much.

All he wanted was a shower and to collapse in bed. Peeling off the sweat soaked button down and t-shirt that had became his Storybrooke outfit of choice, he marched towards the bathroom.

Just as he was about to slip inside and enjoy that most marvellous invention of this realm, he paused. The bedroom door was half open. From inside there came a dim light.

"Emma?"

There was no answer. He took a small step into the room, his eyes adjusting to the darkness and turning to the bed.

"Hi."

His voice caught in his throat. There, reclined on their bed (theirs - he still wasn't used to that), was a most glorious vision. Emma Swan, draped in his coat - wrapped in black leather, teasingly draping open just enough to betray the fact that she was most certainly naked underneath.

Mouth open, he was speechless. She arched her brow in amusement, pushing up onto her forearms. The coat slipped further from her shoulders, revealing a deep valley between her breasts that dipped to just below her navel. HIs eyes followed the trail of creamy skin and he licked his lips. He could feel himself getting hard already, the earlier ache in his limbs forgotten.

"Well Swan, this is a surprise," he finally managed to say, ambling forward as he did until he was at her feet.

"I hope you don't mind," she purred, leaning a little closer to him, "I was feeling a little… cold."

He smiled - a mixture of amusement at her game and complete arousal. "As if I could deny you anything," he whispered, hungrily pulling her face towards him into a crushing kiss and using his hooked hand to drag her further down the bed, until her legs wrapped around his and he lowered himself onto her.

"Such a minx," he muttered as his teeth raked across the exposed skin of her breast - he pushed the leather aside with his hook, taking each delicious curve into his mouth, teasing her nipples with his tongue, whilst his hand wrapped around her waist and pulled it closer to his.

"You love it," she whispered into his ear, her teeth tugging on his earlobe as her fingers worked the fly on his jeans until they were pushed down around his ankles and he kicked them away.

By the time her hand wrapped around his length, he was fit to burst. God the effect she had on him was supernatural. Never had a woman made him so crazed with need and desire. As her fingers tightened he groaned in pleasure, pulses of light spreading from his centre as his mouth began to tighten and suck lightly against the delicate skin of her neck.

"No marks," she panted, lightly pushing him upright and giving him a devilishly wicked wink."Work tomorrow."

He pursed his lips and gave her his best puppy dog look. He loved how they could switch moods so quickly. From hot and wanton to light and playful in an instant.

And this instant was broken by the sound of creaking leather as she leaned closer, looking him in the eye as she licked her lips, her blonde hair falling like a golden curtain around her shoulders and the leather coat barely covering her at all now. His hips jerked forward as she kept his gaze and sank her lips over his cock.

"Fuck," he moaned as her warm, damp mouth slowly devoured him - her tongue swirling around his tip as she took him deeper into his throat - opening it up as she moved until he was utterly consumed by her. He couldn't stop his hand from sinking into her hair and urging her to settle into a rhythm that was just the right side of painfully delicious.

Heat flushed his skin. He looked down at this goddess who was currently servicing him wrapped in his own damn pirate leathers and he couldn't believe his good fortune… She pressed her mouth tighter around him and his knees began to shake.

"Emma - love-"

She moaned, "Hmmm?"

And hell the vibrations around his cock were so excruciatingly beautiful he wanted to come there and then, but having the chance to fuck her dressed as she was was enough to give him that modicum of self control he needed.

"Love," he panted, slipping his hand to her shoulder and tightening his fingers. She let him slip from her mouth, running her tongue along the underside of his erection, before tilting up her chin to him. "Gods you dive me wild."

He could swear she blushed.

Twisting her hips, the coat fell completely open. Splaying out around her like a rippling cloak. She lay back her head and her hair fanned out around her in the manner of a Greek goddess. She arched her back and pushed up her breasts and he dived down to claim them once more. Eager fingers sought out her cunt as tongue lapped at her skin. Christ she was so wet. Quickly two fingers slipped inside her hot core and his thumb began to rub against her clit. He wanted her panting for him - screaming for him.

Sex was always a game with them. Who could push the other farthest. Who would crack first. Who would beg…

By the way she was writhing beneath him, he knew it wouldn't be long until he would feel her wrapped around his length and his stomach jumped in anticipation.

"Jesus, how did you get so good at this," she cried, clinging to his arms and pressing her chest tighter against his mouth.

"Practice, love," he teased and her fingers tightened. He loved it when she let out her jealous side.

"Is that so," she panted, her voice cracking as his fingers curved inside her, "And just how many women have you fucked in this coat?"

Running his tongue up her neck and across her jaw, he paused, face hovering over hers, enjoying how her pupils were blown wide and dark with lust and the way her lips were parted, going him a tantalising glimpse of her soft, pink tongue. "Now that would be telling," he growled, quickly sinking down on her lips again as her muscles tightly gripped his fingers and she came in cramping waves around him.

He loved the way her face pinched and twisted as she came, before relaxing and settling into an aura of utter bliss - her lips curved slightly upwards, the apples of her cheeks turning pink.

Settling back into reality, she opened her eyes into a half lidded gaze, pulling him tighter as she moved up the bed, wresting a little with the heavy and unwieldy coat. "Well, I guess it's time to make you forget all that," she smiled.

She rolled him onto his back, almost tantalisingly slowly; dragging her nails down his chest as he bucked his hips under her until he got a delicious sensation of her dampness at the base of his cock. Hands pressed against his chest, one wrapped in his pendant, she started to rock her hips. Her arousal began to coat him, until she was sliding easily, rubbing her clit against his hardness.

And fuck it felt so good.

He watched her. His coat was now pooled into he crook of her arms and spilling out behind her. Her hair was wild and curly tendrils brushed over her breasts as they softly swayed to the rhythm.

"You are such a fucking tease Swan," he sighed through gritted teeth.

"Is that so?" she cooed. Then she was circling her hips and he was so wet with her his own movements were becoming more erratic Her reached up and palmed her breasts. A little roughly, perhaps, but he knew she was enjoying it by the way she flicked up her head and bit her lip. "You love it." she added.

She reached forward until her chest was almost touching his. She grasped his shoulders and the cool leather of the jacket made his skin tingle while the familiar, earthy smell wrapped around them.

With a flick of her hips he was inside her. Slamming down onto him with a soft grunt, she tightened her thighs and started to rock and swirl her body.

There wasn't a regular rhythm. Instead she seemed to be using him to seek her own pleasure - writhing and twisting as she rode him, her breath ghosting over his face, her toes pressing against his thighs, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she gave out a series of soft, sexual sounds that had him positively aching for release.

Watching her fuck herself against him, in his coat, clearly in the throes of pleasure was too much.

"Christ, make yourself come. Come one. Use me."

The rocking of her hips quickened pace, quick little thrusts that he met with his own, each one resulting in a mutual sigh of appreciation. Her moans became louder and higher pitched, he knew she was close.

Reaching up, he grabbed the collar of his coat and slammed her mouth around his, his hooked hand supporting her ass as he pumped up into her rapidly. Then, as she cried into his mouth, he tumbled across the line of pleasure with her - emptying himself in short, jagged thrusts mixed with muttered curses and soft declarations.

Sated, she lay on him, but he felt light was air. His hand still curved in the leather. Her fingers still gripped his shoulders.

"Well, that was a surprise..."

He nuzzled into her neck and she shifted to look up at him. She was glowing with post coital satisfaction and he couldn't resist kissing her once more.

"Mmmhmmm," was her reply. A lazy smile on her lips told him she was still sinking back down from her high.

"And, a confession, I lied about the coat," he whispered into her ear, "You're the first. And the last."

And he felt the smile on her mouth deepen as she reached up and reclaimed his lips for her own.

**Review? Thanks!**


	32. All for you

_**Emma finds out just what Hook did to regain her memory and return to her world.**_

_**Inspired by the wonderful Pride and Prejudice and the way Killian Jones is so similar to Mr. Darc****y.**_

She walked on in stunned silence. The snow crunching underfoot as they traipsed across the expanse of barren farmland.

She didn't know what to say.

Finally, she had coaxed the story of how he had crossed back into this realm and what he had sacrificed to barter for a memory potion.

And she was speechless.

Her mind a blur, she finally stopped and turned to him. He paused in step, his eyes still on the ground. It always intrigued her how he hated to boast of his deeds and seemed almost shy of recognition. It seemed so out of character for a pirate.

"You did all that..." she whispered, eyes closed, "Gave up so much for my family? For these people? How can we ever thank you-"

_"If you will thank me," he replied, "let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you."_

His words were softly spoken but still struck to her core. She didn't know what to say.

She did it for her. All for her...

_After a short pause, her companion added, "You are too generous to trifle with me. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever."_

He was telling her, in all but those three simple words, how he felt.

He did this because he loved her. He hadn't expected anything in return.

Her heart ached for him. The dawning realisation of his love began to crowd her. To love and expect nothing back, to care and pine, to guide and protect with perhaps no hope of reciprocation...

Instead of replying, she smiled - looking up at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, small dimples emerging on her cheeks.

And he knew.

His hand grasped hers and he pulled it to his lips, placing a soft kiss that lingered even as he raised his head.

"You did all that for me," she wondered.

"Aye," he replied simply.

"But you wanted nothing in return?"

He sighed into a smile, his hook rising and tucking a strand of hair behind her shoulder, "I wanted much, I feared it would be nothing, but I still had hope."

Hope. That magically word that had sustained her throughout so much in the past few weeks.

"When Neal died, I admit I overheard your talk with Henry at the graveside. How he tried to comfort you and you explained your heart was not broken. _It taught me to hope," said he, "as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before."_

She placed a light hand on his chest, toying with his pendants, biting her lip.

"I'm glad you had hope."

He slid his hand over her cheek and she turned to kiss his thumb. They just stood their for a second. The sun rising behind them, casting the scene in pinkish golden hues.

"We should find your father and Regina," he said, almost reluctantly.

"Yes" she nodded, turning back to look at the farmhouse.

Lacing her fingers into his as they walked together.

_(Direct Pride and Prejudice quotes from the wonderful and inspiring Jane Austen in italics)._


End file.
